


you are not alone

by firstpynch



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Author is not a scientist, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I dont know how to tag, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, SamBucky if you squint, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Angst, author did about 2 seconds of research on the science and then gave up after an incoming headache, based on tumblr prompt, dreamscapes of sorts, mostly Endgame compliant except for the last 15 minutes, they both just want Tony back, wishy washy science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstpynch/pseuds/firstpynch
Summary: "Did we win?" Steve asks. He knows they did; he can see the proof standing before him. Sam, Shuri, Bucky - they are all people who Steve has mourned for the past five years, the ones they risked time and space to bring back. Yet here they are now, standing before them, whole and alive."Yeah, Cap," Bruce says. "We won."His smile is strained though, forced. Steve is scared to ask his next question -"What did it cost?"~When Thanos had flung Steve Rogers across the derelict battlefield, the impact sent Steve into a 6 month long coma. He woke up to a new world - one still recovering. One without Tony Stark. Steve and Peter Parker, recently outed as Spiderman, chase the ghosts of their past together, both mourning the loss of the man who meant the world to them. But there are bigger things at play here, and Steve must figure out what it all means before it is too late.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter & Tony Stark, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	you are not alone

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing this for the last few weeks and I am so excited to share the first half of it!!
> 
> This is based on a Tumblr prompt I saw about Steve going into a coma and Tony - mad with grief - kills Thanos singlehandedly, dying in the process. I had it saved somewhere but can't find it anymore, so if anyone knows who it is please link them in the comments so that I can give them credits!! 
> 
> This isn't beta'd and all mistakes and deviations from the story are my own. Let's be real, I won't rest until I have fixed every part of Endgame and made it happy. 
> 
> Note: please please please don't pay too much attention on the science. I am a law student. I can talk about the constitutional importance of human rights for hours but I know absolutely nothing about static electricity sorry. 
> 
> Title is from 'carry you' by Ruelle, chapter title is from 'the other side' also by Ruelle. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Steve opens his eyes to find himself in an unknown room, the blinds tightly closed. He can hear music playing distantly in the background, though he can’t quite make out the words to the song even with his super hearing. 

It feels like deja vu. 

He comes into consciousness slowly, drifting in and out like a weak wave approaching the shore. His head throbs, and something in his chest hurts. He knows before he wakes that he is not going to like what he wakes up to. There is just something in his chest that tells him to cling onto the embrace of unconsciousness, that he is not quite ready to face the world yet. 

Steve does not remember much of what happened after he had woken up in that dingy room in a SHIELD facility a lifetime ago. Everything was a blur - running away to find himself in a city he does not recognise, a world he does not recognise, in the midst of people he does not recognise. The unfamiliar face of Nick Fury telling him all that he has lost, all that he will never again gain. He does remember the minutes before he came into consciousness, though. He remembers the stab of pain in his gut, the way his instincts screamed at him to retreat from these surroundings. There was a big sign in his head, relentless and unblinkling, flashing a constant message of DANGER AHEAD. DO NOT ENGAGE. 

This is how he feels at this very moment. 

“Stevie?” he hears a voice calling to him. It sounds low and exhausted and weary, a faint glimmer of hope at the edge that is being forcefully kept in a voice. He opens his eyes finally, the voice an anchor that brings him to shore. 

“Bucky,” he breathes out, his eyes squinting as he adjusts to the light. Bucky gives a smile, perhaps one of the only real ones Steve has seen him give since he and Bucky had boarded the Quinjet in Siberia, the day Steve had sacrificed all that his heart desired. 

“Hey punk,” Bucky says, holding a glass of water to Steve’s lips. “Drink up.” 

Steve lets the cold water rush down his throat, feeling only in that moment how parched he truly was. Bucky is giving him a look at the drinks, a smile fixed on his face though Steve can see it slipping. Bucky looks unsure and unbelieving, looking at Steve as if he is seeing a ghost. 

It is at that moment that it dawns on Steve - he  _ is _ seeing a ghost. 

Steve pushes the glass away, looking up at Bucky with tearful eyes. “You’re okay,” he says, his voice coming out hoarse. 

Bucky gives Steve a sad smile, reaching his good hand to brush a long strand of hair off Steve’s face - longer than he remembers it to be. It’s now that Steve realises the differences in everything - Bucky’s hair is shorter and lighter, like it used to be when they were just two kids from Brooklyn trying to do right by their country. He is not wearing his metal arm, but rather just a long sleeved sweater which flops on his side. 

“What happened?” Steve finally asks. He looks around the unfamiliar room, taking in the dark walls and generic paintings on the wall. “Where am I?” 

“You’re in Wakanda,” Bucky says, helping Steve sit up on his bed. “Bruce will be here in a minute, don’t over do yourself.” 

“Buck, what happened?” Steve asks again, frantically. “Where is everyone?” 

Flashes start coming back to him now - Thanos, the stones, the Avengers Compound getting destroyed, fighting Thanos’ army.

Bucky avoids his eyes, his hand curling around Steve’s wrist. “Bucky.” Steve says again. 

The door opens at that moment, and Bruce walks in with Sam and Shuri in tow. “You’re back,” Steve says smiling. “You’re all back.” 

Shuri rushes over to Steve’s side, expanding a screen as she looks at Steve’s vitals. “Take it easy, Captain Rogers,” she says, drawing an injection. “You are still very weak.” 

“Did we win?” Steve asks. He knows they did; he can see the proof standing before him. Sam, Shuri, Bucky - they’re people who have been mourned for five years, and yet now they’re here, alive and whole. 

“Yeah, Cap,” he says, “we won.” His smile is strained though, forced. Steve is scared to ask the next question. “What did it cost?” 

The room collectively averts their eyes. Steve looks around the room, and realises the absence of one man has been palpable. 

“Bruce?” Steve asks, and for the first time since the day the dreaded war started, he lets fear lace his voice. “What happened?” 

“What is the last thing you remember, Captain?” Shuri says. Steve closes his eyes, trying to fight the pounding headache as he searches his memories. “Thanos,” he says, his voice shivering. “Everyone came back. He had the gauntlet, and I was fighting him one to one combat after he threw Tony off him. After that everything is blank.” 

“We don’t really know what happened,” Bruce says. “But from what we can gather, when Thanos threw you across the battlefield you hit your head on something. You’ve been in a coma.”

“Is Thanos gone?” Steve asks. Bruce hesitates, “Thanos won’t be bothering us again.” 

Steve stays silent, his head processing the information. They won. They avenged five years of suffering, of losing the ones they love, of living in a world that “How long has it been?” he asks. 

“6 months” Sam says, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. The thought of losing another set of years from his life, having to start over again - Steve does not think he could bear it again. 

“Where is everyone else?” Steve asks. 

“Wanda has gone away to the Barton farm with Clint for a while,” Bruce says. “T’Challa is attending to some Council matters right now but he’s going to be here soon. Thor and Carol have gone back to space for the time being with the Guardians to do some recon. He expects to be back for a bit soon though. Scott has gone back to California. Everyone went back to their normal lives.” The sinking feeling in Steve’s chest intensifies, the DO NOT ENGAGE message once ahead barrelling in his head. 

“And Tony?” Steve asks, though something in his heart tells him he already knows the answer. He may be groggy, violently still, but he didn’t miss that no one mentioned Tony, the way everyone dodged his question about what they lost. He looks around, seeing that everyone’s gaze steadfastly avoids his. He looks back at Bruce, his eyes full of tears. “When Thanos threw you away, Tony immediately went to check on you. You were completely unresponsive. By the time we got to you, your heartbeat was dangerously slow.” 

“Where is Tony?” Steve asks again, his voice shaky. 

“Tony put the gauntlet on himself, Steve.” Bruce says, “It was the only way to get rid of Thanos’ army.”

“Bruce,” Steve says again. “Where is Tony.”

Big drops of tears fall down Bruce’s green face. “He’s gone.” He says, his voice breaking with controlled sobs. “He’s gone.” 

Steve recoils on himself, the sobs erupting out of his body without any control. He can see people fussing around him, Shuri reaching for an injection, Bruce and Bucky holding him down as Sam tries to calm Steve. He can hear screams, loud and mournful. Only when Shuri stabs him with the prick of the sedative injection does Steve realise those screams were coming from him. 

* * *

_ There is a mustiness around him - it smells of blood and fire and destruction. There are a thousand little burning lights surrounding him - as far as his eyes can reach there is nothing but debris. Steve knows what this debris is - he has a thousand memories associated with it. There is a large blob of solid to his right - the concrete of the walls maybe - and who knows what part of Steve’s life it used to represent once upon a time? Is it a part of the kitchen, where Bruce had patiently tried - and failed - to teach Steve the intricacies of the culinary arts? Is it from the gym, where Steve had spent relentless hours sparring with Thor and Natasha? Or is it a forgotten memento of those countless times spent in the lab with Tony, Steve deposited comfortably on the couch with a sketchpad and charcoal pencil in hand as Tony invented the future? He is surrounded by memories in this battlefield, each providing reasons of why he needs to fight.  _

_ Steve finds the broken half of his shield deposited some metres from him, and he hurries to the position to pick it up and continue fighting. He has to fight - fight to save the ones he lost and to protect the ones he could not bear to lose. The shield’s weight is a comfort to him - always has been, since the day he had picked it up in Howard’s lab as a starry eyed soldier who had been told he could bring a change. And it had stayed with him through it all - the fighting for a cause, losing Bucky, finding Bucky only to lose him again. It had waited with him as the world changed and forgot and slipped from his grasp, and it supported him when the same world needed him to fight. His soul had resided in that shield, and leaving it behind in the tainted snow of Siberia hurt almost as much as leaving behind his heart next to it. It was only when Tony had strapped that shield on his arm that Steve had felt a piece of his soul (and his heart) slot back into place.  _

_ The weight is still a surety in his arm, broken as it may be.  _

_ The battle rages all around them, but Steve’s eyes focus on just one figure - flash of red and gold in front of him - colours Steve has found himself actively seeking for many years. He is lying on the floor, some feet from where Carol is engaged in a headlock with Thanos as she tries to wrestle the gauntlet from his grasp. Every soldier instinct in Steve’s guy screams at him to provide Carol with backup, and yet Steve can’t help but run directly for Tony, making sure he is okay. He is too slow though, because Tony propels himself up and Steve follows his line of sight directly to the man whom Steve knows to be Doctor Strange. Doctor Strange holds up one figure, and he sees understanding dawn on Tony’s face.  _

“He said there is only one out of 14,000,605 possibilities in which we win.” 

_ No.  _

_ “TONY!” Steve shouts, as he runs towards Tony with all his might. Tony is engaged in a fight with Thanos, both of them aiming for the gauntlet to dawn their hands. Steve needs to get to it first. He reaches his hands out, calling Mjolnir to him. If he is worthy - if he is truly worthy to wield this power - it has to be to save Tony.. The hammer sticks to his palm. He wastes no time, throwing it at Tony’s direction. He can do this - it will move Tony away from the damn gauntlet, he can save his life.  _

_ The hammer phases right past him.  _

_ Tony puts the gauntlet on, his entire body convulsing with pain as the power the universe rips his ever nerve apart, staring up defiantly at Thanos as he says “...and I am Iron Man.”  _

Steve jolts awake, a cry of “Tony!” on his lips. 

He feels a weight putting his arm around him, a smell filling his nostrils of leather and grass, a soft voice whispering a mantra of “it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay”. It’s Bucky, his brain supplies him, Bucky is here and he is safe - but that part of his brain remains distant. There is only one part of his brain that is still active, just one thought repeating in his head over and over and over again -- 

“Tony, he’s going to put the gauntlet on. He’s going to die. We have to save him, Bucky we have to save Tony.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just calm down, okay punk? Just stay calm.” 

“No, no Bucky we have to save Tony. I can’t lose him. Bucky,  _ I can’t lose him _ .”  __

“Steve, you gotta listen to me and breathe, okay? You need to breathe. Please. In,” Bucky takes a deep, exaggerated breath in and Steve follows, taking a lung full of air in, “and out,” he says, exhaling slowly. They do this a few times, until Steve feels his heart rate slow and the tight grip of Bucky’s arm loosen. 

Steve closes his eyes, still actively breathing, but all he can see is the pain on Tony’s face as he lays down his life. He forces his eyes open, tears streaming down his face. Bucky pulls him to his chest, cradling his head as he softly runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Let it out, Stevie. It’s okay. Just let it out.” 

Steve’s hands circle around Bucky’s torso. He pulls his friend in tightly, his fingers grabbing fistfuls of Bucky’s shirt as he sobs into his chest. The scene feels familiar; in another lifetime, they have had variations of this scene a thousand times before. When the news of his father’s death had come, there was Bucky, a steady presence never leaving Steve’s side. When his mother had died, it was Bucky who had sat with Steve’s head on his lap as Steve cried for hours, as he begged the Gods to bring his Ma back. When Steve had found sleep lost to him during the war, Bucky had been there to drown out the noises of the never-ceasing gun shots with his calm voice and unwavering presence. When Steve Rogers was no one, he had Bucky, and so he let himself cry out every bit of pain holed up inside him. 

“He’s really gone,” he says in between sobs. “He’s gone and I wasn’t there.” 

“Steve -” Bucky says. Steve only carries on. “I promised him we’ll fight together, always. And both times I wasn’t there.”

“Steve,” Bucky says. “I didn’t know him, and I didn’t see him much during the battle either, but there is one thing I do know. He was a hero, and he saved every damn person in this universe. He would have done it whether or not you were there.”

“But it should have been me,” Steve said, raising his head to look up at Bucky. “It should have been me.” 

“That Strange fellow said there was only one possibility in which we won this thing. The one where Stark…” Bucky wavers off, gulping visibly as he leaves the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, the weight of it unbearable for Steve. “It was the only way to defeat Thanos, and it was a price he was willing to pay.”

“The universe is bigger than just him,” Steve says. He picks himself off from Bucky, bringing his palm up to furiously wipe the tears that had stained his face. “It wasn’t a price I was willing to pay.”

* * *

It is another month before they declare him fit enough to leave. 

During that month he was allowed limited time walking around Wakanda. He helped the farmers with the manual labour, losing himself to the repetitive task during the day. In the nights, he would vary his routine. Sometimes he would explore the palace or the city, marvel at the technology Wakanda had a surplus of. He had seen it before, of course, during the considerable time he spent here during his self-imposed exile, but it had changed a lot in the five years he had not managed to bring himself to visit. Sometimes he would walk as far as his feet would take him, would watch the sun rise over the grassy planes and wonder if the universe knows what it took for it to see another day. He wonders if Tony had ever visited, if he had ever walked the same streets he did and marvel at the high speed trains and ask a million questions about how everything works - a futurist in his paradise. He wonders if Tony ever got to sit in the spot he is now sitting in, the rooftop of the palace, if he ever got to see the sun sink over the horizon. Did he feel peace? Did the restlessness in his heart settle, even for a moment? Steve hopes Tony got to see this, got to feel the feeling he knew he too could feel if only he did not have a huge chunk of his heart lost forever. 

“I thought I would find you here,” a voice comes from behind me, and he turns to see Sam sit down quietly next to him. They don’t talk for a while, just sitting in a companionable silence as they both watch the expanse of colour in front of them. “Steve,” Sam says finally, “you’re scaring us.” 

“Who is ‘us’?” Steve asks, because the other retorts he has seem to be too forbidding to say aloud. He knows he has been lost and angry and upset all the time - he can’t help it. He is so tired of pretending he’s okay, of preparing for another fight, of losing the people he loves because the world always has to come first. His parents, Bucky, Peggy - everyone had left him years ago, and he had made his peace with that. He had barely even had time to mourn Natasha before he was thrust into another grief. 

“Me. Bucky. T’Challa. Wanda. Clint. Bruce. Even Pepper and Rhodey have been trying to get down here to see you.” Steve winces at the mention of Pepper and Rhodey, as Sam probably knew he would. It is a subtle attempt to get him to finally talk, though it does not go unnoticed by Steve. 

“What do you want me to do, Sam?” Steve grits out. “Jump back up and say I’m fine with it? I’m fine with losing everyone I have ever loved? We didn’t even see Natasha’s body, did you know that, Sam? We didn’t get to sit down for a minute and mourn Natasha and have a funeral for her because the world needed saving. Am I supposed to say I’m fine with…. with him….” Steve is crying again, and a little part of him laughs at the fact that he probably hasn’t ever cried as much in his whole life as he has in this past month. “I keep trying to remember what the last thing I said to him was, and I can’t remember. I can’t remember what my last words to him were, what my last actions to him were. I never truly apologised for everything. I never told him…” Steve breaks off, blinking away from Sam’s gaze. The sun has fully set now, and there is a darkness surrounding them, though in front of them Wakanda is lit up like a Christmas tree. 

“You never told him you loved him.” Sam finishes off. Steve stares at him, dumbfounded. “What? You thought you managed to keep it a secret? You were really bad at wiping off the ‘kid in love’ look from your face man. Everyone knew. Except him I guess. The only person more idiotic than you was him.” 

“That obvious, huh?” Steve says, a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“Man, you had that flip phone permanently attached to your hand for 2 years. Nat wanted to steal it and hide it somewhere. The only reason she didn’t was probably because she was scared you would become batshit crazy and blow our cover or something.”

Steve laughed, watery and broken, but probably the only time he has done so in the month since he woke up. The noise surprised him - it seemed so foreign and out of place that tears immediately sprang into his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Sam,” he finally admits. 

Sam stays silent, doing nothing but looking at him for a few moments. He finally stands up, slowly and deliberately, as if to give Steve time to process the movement and respond. Steve stays firmly in his position, only looking up at Sam with a bewildered expression. “Here is what you’re going to do. You are going to get up, and you are going to try and get the sleep I know you haven’t been getting for a month. When you are ready, we are going to go home and you are going to heal, however way you need to. If it is by going back into the fight, I am sure there are plenty of bad guys for you to knock sense into. The spider kid got into some trouble just yesterday -“ Steve is about to interject, but Sam holds a hand up and continues “- he’s fine, Rhodey was on backup and he had a suit sent over for me in case I was needed but he managed it pretty well on his own.” Steve signs with relief - the kid meant enough for Tony to wade into war just to bring him back, and Steve swears to protect the kid with his life. “And if you don’t want to go back into the fight, that’s fine too. The world can survive without Captain America. But there are a lot of people here who can’t live without Steve Rogers. So I know that this grief you’re feeling - it’s eating you up on the inside. I know you miss them, and I know how much you loved them, but they gave up their lives to save everyone. That includes you. You think Tony and Nat would like you wandering around a palace like a ghost by yourself forever? You owe it to them to stop living your life like a goddamn ghost, Steve.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Steve admits. Sam reaches his hands out, inviting Steve to hold onto him. Steve hesitates a moment, but he finds his arms reaching out to Sam and gripping his hands as he propels himself up. Sam gives Steve’s hands a soft squeeze. “Trying is always a start.” 

* * *

_ Steve feels before he sees where he is. He can feel something soft beneath him, comfortable and plush, and Steve does not need to look to know what this is. He opens his eyes slowly, his hands feeling the large expanse of silky couch he knows he is sitting on. His hands stumble onto the velvety cover of his sketchpad - a birthday gift from Tony - and his hands curl around it. He picks it up, running his fingers gently along the smooth spine of the book, tracing the engraved words like he has done a million times. He opens it up to a random page, then another, and then another. He knows what is inside it, of course - he only really had one muse - and he can’t help but caress the creamy pages, the image ascribed on it one that he has committed to memory.  _

_ “Oh, you’re up,” a voice comes suddenly - and he knows that voice. He would know that voice anywhere, in death, and the end of the world. He head shoots up, his eyes meeting Tony’s smiling gaze. “Did DUM-E wake you up? I told her to stay away and let you get your beauty sleep but she’s been beeping around like a lost puppy the whole time. You’ve spoilt her, Steve, you know that? All she wants to do now is play catch and make motor-oil smoothies.” Tony’s back is facing Steve as he babbles on. He walks to the table in the corner of the lab, pouring himself a large mug of coffee. Steve takes the chance to study his broad frame, his eyes prickling with tears. His eyes run over the dark mop of his hair, wild and unbrushed as if he had been running his fingers repeatedly through it. The tank top he is wearing exposes his muscly arms, and there are dark streaks of motor oil tainting his creamy skin. He looks better than Steve has seen him in a long time - softer around the edges, younger and maybe even a bit happier. Looking at him now, in this form, Steve can almost forget the image of a Tony withering in pain from his mind - the image that has been torturing him ever since he had the dream all those weeks ago.  _

_ Tony turns and grins at Steve, his full cup of coffee swishing around in his Iron Man mug, and Steve quickly tries to school his expression into something less serious. Tony notices, though, because he slowly walks over to Steve and sits down next to him. “You okay, Cap?” he asks with a facade of nonchalance, bringing his mug up to his lips and taking a long sip of lukewarm coffee.  _

_ “Yeah,” Steve says quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”  _

_ Tony stares at him for a long moment. Steve can see the gears turning in his head. He is analysing the situation, trying to look for any signs of negative behaviour. He is trying to work out if he should push, or if he should leave it for the time being, letting Steve work it out on his own before he approaches Tony. He always does approach Tony - about almost everything but the secret that is keeping them apart.  _

_ “Tony, really. I’m fine.” He looks around, trying to find something to swerve Tony’s attention to. “Whatcha been workin’ on?” he asks, nodding his head in the direction of Tony’s half completed project laying on the workshop table.  _

_ “A new prototype for your uniform,” Tony says, his eyes lighting up as they always do when asked about his work. He starts gesticulating wildly, bringing up screens with displays of various designs of Steve’s costume. “I’m thinking….” he starts, launching into an explanation about an in-built parachute in his suit because  _ “you jump out of too many buildings, Steve, and my heart is weak. You’re killing me here.” 

_ Steve tries to focus on Tony’s explanation, but instead finds himself drawn to studying the planes of his face. The blue glow of the screen illuminates Tony’s face, adding an almost ethereal quality to it. His eyes are wide and light, a chocolate brown haze shining with a child-like excitement Steve cannot help but love. Tony stops talking mid-sentence, pouting at Steve’s obvious lack of attention. “Whatcha lookin at, soldier?” Tony asks, giving him a playful nudge on the shoulder. Steve laughs, free and loud. “You,” he says simply, and Tony’s smile could outshine the power of a thousand arc reactors.  _

* * *

Steve wakes with a gasp, his breaths laboured and deep. The dream - it wasn’t a dream, not really. It was a memory. There were a thousand moments like that he shared with Tony, but he remembers every single one of them. Those beautiful moments were his lifeline in those long, lonely nights after Siberia, when he had curled up on the hard beds of sleazy motels and wondered what he could have done differently, how he could have avoided the situation he had created for himself then. It was a memory - a good one. It was one where he had managed to momentarily forget the knowledge he was burdened with, the chasm of secrets that he had deliberately created between himself and Tony, and did not know how to fill. It was just a moment, shared between only himself and Tony - shared between two men who cared about each other deeply and tried to show in the little gestures. It was silences filled with companionship, and touches filled with longing, and smiles filled with love - so much love, love they could never express openly, but both knew existed. He thought, at least. Maybe he did not do a good enough job to make sure Tony knew, too. 

There is a golden light peeking through the heavy curtains, a clear indication that dawn is upon them. He moves lethargically, pushing his blankets away to get out of bed. He liked that dream, liked remembering the good moments, but there is a catch. The dreams never last very long - good or bad - and he will always inevitably wake up to a cage in hell he is trapped in. His hand bumps into something solid, and he quickly picks it up. 

It is a leatherbound book. 

A sketchpad. 

He turns it over slowly, bringing it to eye level. He lets out a noise, something between a laugh and a sob, running his fingers delicately along the spine, tracing the words he knew are inscribed on it. 

_ Steven G. Rogers.  _

He turns the cover slowly, knowing before he even sees it that there is a message transcribed on it, a message he had committed to memory years ago. 

_ Heroes can do more than just save the world. Sometimes you gotta put your feet up and do something just for you. Maybe you’ll even find a muse.  _

_ Love, Shellhead  _

He flips the notebook to a random page, then another, and then another. The subjects are all the same - brown eyes, calloused hands, a mischievous grin, a bright glow from a blue orb, a suit the colour of pride. 

His muse. 

* * *

Bucky comes over to him when they’re close to landing. 

“You sure I should be going down with you?” He asks nervously. 

“I can’t do this alone,” Steve admits. Bucky nods, sitting down next to Steve, their arms touching, a steady weight on Steve’s skin. 

“You’ve gotten a lot better at this,” Bucky comments wearily. 

“At what?” Steve asks, though he thinks he has an idea as to what Bucky is referring to. 

“Admitting weakness,” Bucky answers simply. “Asking for help. Laying yourself bare. The punk I knew was out to fight the world, consequences be damned.” 

Steve smiles. Bucky has known him long enough to know the glassy fakeness of it. “He’s tired of fighting,” Steve says. “He just wants to go home.” 

“He is,” Bucky says, lowering his head to look Steve in the eye. Steve’s expression is mournful. “No, not really. I don’t think I have a home anymore.” 

Bucky stays silent for a moment, his vision flooded with images - a destroyed building he had heard Steve longingly refer to as home, the burnt out body of a man with whom his best friend’s heart had gotten buried six feet under. 

There was a question that had been nagging in Bucky’s mind ever since that fateful day in Siberia. He had wondered it often, but never had the guts to say it out loud. He knew Steve, 80 (odd) years be damned, and he knew intimately which words Steve had the courage to handle, and which not. Even now Bucky is reluctant to pose the question - Steve always has had his heart on his sleeve. He loves with his heart out of his chest, no barriers and restraints. It’s his most loveable quality, but it is also the one thing that leaves him vulnerable. Zemo had seen it and had exploited it, and the wreckage of his broken heart had been so tremendous Steve was still collapsing under the weight of it. Perhaps Steve would not be able to handle those words now, but Bucky knows it needs to be posed. Sometimes you can only stop the pain from a bruise if you press it repeatedly. 

“When did you know you loved him?” Bucky asked tentatively. Steve froze, and Bucky almost regretted finally letting those words out. But they were free now, charging the air with a spark that could very well ignite into a flame. Bucky hopes he can douse it before it destroys everything. 

“I don’t know,” Steve answers, though even as he says the words Bucky can tell it’s not the complete truth. “One day he looked at me and I just knew.” 

Bucky remembers the devastation on Steve’s face as he had dropped the shield and limped onto the jet. He has known Steve a long time, has seen Steve go through almost every emotion - happiness and euphoria, grief and sadness, resignation and determination. He had seen Steve go starry-eyed over Peggy, had seen him fall in love, saw him dream for a future he was longing to have. A home with a wife and kids, a long happy life he never thought he would have. Bucky had not been there to see him lose it, but he had woken up to a Steve that did not look all that different, even with Peggy long gone. It didn’t take him very long to see that his best friend - his brother - was in love. Perhaps a love bigger and deeper than that which he had felt for Peggy, and he had just left the man on the receiving end of that love paralysed and stranded in the snow. 

“Did he know?” Bucky found himself asking, because he must have, right? Bucky had seen the erratic way Tony had fought Thanos, with a passion and determination that could only be powered with anger and grief. He knew, because it was powering him too. He hadn’t really known what had happened to Steve whilst he was in the battle - too distracted by the heat of it to even realise when Steve had gone out of his sight - but he had seen Tony’s hysteria, which could have only meant one thing, especially as Rhodey, Peter and the woman in the blue suit Bucky knows is his wife were all within his eyesight, and okay too. Tony had fought with all his might because he thought he had lost someone he cared about. Loved, even, if Bucky had read Tony’s own devastation in Siberia correctly. 

“How could he? I never told him,” Steve laughs bitterly. “He was the love of my life, and I never told him. You’d think I’d learn.” 

“Stark isn’t Peggy,” Bucky said gently. 

“Isn’t he?” Steve said. “Didn’t they both leave me, in the end?” 

Bucky doesn’t really know how to respond to that. He doesn’t have to, because in that moment the jet grounds and Sam’s voice comes over the coms. 

“Cap, we’re home,” he says. They emerge out of the Wakandian jet slowly, on what seems to be a flying pad on a tall skyscraper. 

Steve looks around, his eyes filling with unshed tears. 

Sam looks at him apologetically. “Pepper had it reopened a few weeks ago. There’s a few people around. Bruce came in yesterday to set up - he’ll be sticking around for a while whilst he decides what to do next. Rhodey and Happy are here for now too with the spider kid. He and his aunt are laying low here whilst Stark Industries does the damage control after that lunatic revealed his identity.” 

Steve nods, once, though Bucky can’t be sure he has heard anything. He walks through into the penthouse slowly, one hand slightly reached out, as if he is feeling for something in front of him. He has ghosts in this building too - lots of them. For the first time, Bucky wonders if they should have just let him stay in Wakanda. 

“I thought Tony sold the tower after…” Steve asks uncertainly. 

“He did.” Rhodey comes into view, a sad smile on his face as he comes directly in front of Steve, wordlessly enveloping him, then Sam into a hug. He nods at Bucky, before continuing. “He bought it back, though. He wanted to be closer to Peter. Thought upstate New York was too far, in case he got hurt or something. Plus,” Rhodey looks around the room, still largely unchanged from the last time Steve had seen it, “he couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how much he thought he wanted to. It was always Avengers Tower for him, even without any Avengers in it.” 

Steve walks over to the mantelpiece, where a large frame still hangs. A smiling picture of the team stares back at him - an ecstatic looking Thor staring intently at the camera, marvelling at the way “Midgardian technology” works, and bored looking Clint and Natasha on one side. On the other corner there was a dazed looking Bruce, still a little green around the edges after a debacle with the other guy, and beside him a confused and slightly battered Steve. Between them there was Tony - the heart of the group, the glue that held them all together. The picture was taken in the early days, when they were all still tentative around each other, all still trying to find their footing within the team. But when they had seen the picture, perhaps for the first time they visualised themselves as a team - not together because the world needed saving, but simply because they were all broken pieces of a mismatched jigsaw puzzle that somehow fit together. Overtime, they had had many additions to the team, many pictures taken during many happy occasions, some of which had found their way into frames, adorning the walls all around them, both at the Compound and here. But this first picture they had ever taken together, exhausted and battered after a long fight, this one had always stayed in the center; a stark reminder that whatever they do, they will do together. 

Steve can appreciate the irony behind it now. 

“Peter and his aunt, May, are in the guest quarters.” Rhodey says, causing Steve to break away his gaze. “Your quarters are the same as before. I’m assuming Barnes is staying with you, Steve?” Rhodey looks between Bucky and Steve, and Steve nods. “Cool,” Rhodey continues. “Y’all go rest for a bit. FRIDAY is still operational in the whole building if you need anything. I’ll be around too.” 

“Hey, Rhodes?” Steve calls out quickly, just as Rhodey approaches the elevator. “Is anyone staying here?” 

Rhodey’s gaze softens. “No,” he says, his eyes full of pity, almost as if he knows what Steve is thinking. “Not anymore.” He nods at Steve once, an encouraging smile directed at him. “Y’all coming?” He calls out. “Takeout will be here soon.” 

They all follow Rhodey into the elevator, Steve’s eyes still fixed on Tony’s smiling face on the portrait above the mantelpiece. 

* * *

_ “Who is the kid?” Steve asked, entering into the lab balancing two mugs of hot cocoa in his hands. It was late, and if Steve’s estimation is correct Tony has been on a work binge for nearly 30 consecutive hours, and that just won’t do.  _

_ Tony turns around, his eyes slightly glassy (the no-sleep, Steve is assuming), giving Steve a delighted grin when he sees him approaching with mugs of steam. “Coffee?” he asks eagerly, and Steve rolls his eyes with amusement. “You should have been cut off,” Steve wearily eyes the pile of forgotten mugs in the sink, “about 10 cups ago. This is hot cocoa.” Tony pouts at Steve, but accepts the mug anyway, taking a long sip of the chocolatey liquid and moaning ecstatically. “You ever gonna give me this recipe?” Tony asks, breathing in the hot steam from the mug. Steve laughs. “It is a Mama Rogers speciality, and you have to be in the inner circle to get it, Mr Stark.” Tony smirks at Steve, “and what do I need to do to get there, Mr Rogers?” Tony says, raising a perfect eyebrow. Steve gives Tony a look, moving closer slowly. He goes close to his face, so close he can count the shadows of his eye lashes that are being cast on his cheek, long and feathery. He stops short, reaching over behind Tony on the couch they both gravitated to, grabbing a pillow and smothering it into Tony’s face. “Go to sleep, for starters,” Steve answers playfully. Tony gapes at Steve for a moment, before shaking with laughter. “You know,” he says, in between laughs, “You are a devil. If only America knew how evil her golden boy really is.”  _

_ “I’m sure they’ll appreciate me trying to keep her best defender alive,” Steve responds.  _

_ Tony’s laugh eyes out, and he looks down almost sadly, definitely disbelievingly. Sometimes, Steve is knocked out by how wrong he had gotten Tony when they first met. This is a man who outshines all of them, and yet he thinks of himself as nothing special. Steve could only wish he could hold up a mirror to Tony’s face, make him see himself in the way Steve sees him.  _

_ “Flattery won’t get me to stop working,” Tony says finally, his voice adopting the Tony Stark of Stark Industries voice that could fool everyone but Steve. “I’m on a roll here.”  _

_ “I don’t know, Tony,” Steve says, nodding at the screen, “it kinda looks like you’ve just been watching videos of a kid running around in a onesie.”  _

_ Tony’s eyes go wide. “A kid in a onesie who stopped a car nearly 3000 pounds going 40 miles a hour with his bare hands.”  _

_ Steve looks on disbelievingly, walking up to where Tony is now standing in front of a screen. He watches intently as Tony replays the video.  _

_ “Who is he?” Steve asks.  _

_ “I don’t know,” Tony answers grudgingly. “I got Friday running a scan, seeing if she can decipher a face underneath that sorry excuse of a mask.” _

_ “You think he’s dangerous?” Steve asks.  _

_ “He looks like a kid in a onesie trying to play at being a hero,” Tony says, though not answering a question.  _

_ “An enhanced kid, it seems,” Steve points out. “It could put him on the radar of some really bad people, especially if he is drawing attention like this.”  _

_ “I know,” Tony sighs, sitting down on the stool. He stares intently at the screen for a second. “I had FRIDAY put anything about him deep into the internet, and deeply coded too. I’m hoping he doesn’t pop up on anyone’s radar, at least not accidentally. Once I know who he is, we can pay him a little visit.”  _

_ Steve nods. “Keep me updated,” he says.  _

_ Tony nudges Steve’s shoulder playfully. “Aye aye, Captain,” he says, giving a mock salute.  _

* * *

Steve does eventually find himself gravitating to the penthouse suite, like he has been trying to stop doing all day. Sleep had come to him tonight - certainly rare, even before he had slipped into a coma and woken up with a heart. But the dreams he has been having - he doesn’t know what to make of them. There are explanations for it, of course - two out of three of them had been memories rather than dreams, and the only unknown one had probably been his mind trying to fill the blanks. He misses Tony - he doesn’t need a Stark level genius to figure that one out. Missing Tony isn’t anything new - he had done it in the year after Sokovia, even though Tony was over at the compound more often than not. It had certainly been woven into his very existence during those two years on the run, and the five years after the universe had ended. It has not escaped Steve’s attention that he has spent more time missing Tony than he has actually spent with Tony. But there is a difference between those times and now. In the year between Sokovia and the Accords, Steve was safe in the knowledge that if he wanted to see Tony or talk to Tony, he could. He could call Tony, and Tony would be over in the Iron Man suit, ETA 10 minutes, before Steve had even managed to ask the question. Or sometimes he would go over himself, a weak excuse of “I was in the neighbourhood” as Pepper left for work with a smile and a kiss on his cheek. He and Tony would spend the day in the lab, or the sitting area watching a movie, or sometimes they would go out and go diner hopping or cafe hopping, Steve being perpetually hungry and Tony always being in a dire need of coffee. Sometimes he would even manage to coax Tony into the gym, and they would bask in the adrenaline rush that gave them a high even now, even after all this time. Sometimes Pepper would be back in the evening whilst Steve is still there. There would be invites for dinner and takeout Thai, and Steve would sit there and tell himself over and over again that he is okay with this, that having little is better than having nothing. And then, in the seven years after Berlin and Siberia and Thanos, when the distance between them, literal and metaphorical, was too great for either of them to attempt to cross, Steve would be content in the knowledge that at least he is alive. Steve had gone through those 28 days when they didn’t know if Tony was okay, and Steve had promised himself that he would do anything, as long as Tony was okay. He would stand back, he would melt into the shadows, he would bear every bitter word Tony threw at him and he would let it cut him, would wear the scars on his chest without a complaint. He would never see Tony again, as long as he was okay. And so, when Tony came back - beaten and bruised and perhaps even broken, but safe and alive - Steve kept to his promise. He went out of Tony’s life forever, being content in the knowledge that he’s alive, and even within all this wreckage, he’s happy. 

But now? There is no consolation. He can’t make an excuse and see him. He can’t vicariously live through every detail of Tony’s life through Natasha. Tony’s gone, dead, and it’s all his fault. 

Yet, there is something there, something keeping him alive in Steve’s mind. The dreams, the memories, the sketchpad Steve lost years ago that somehow ended up on his bed on the other side of the world. Steve doesn’t know what to make of any of this. 

Tony would know. 

Tony is dead. 

He hears footsteps approaching behind him, quiet and quick but not unmissable by his superhuman hearing. He turns slowly, watching as a figure emerges from the darkness of the penthouse and into the dimly lit balcony, glowing in the moonlight. He is hunched, maybe with grief, maybe with desperation, or maybe just with a weariness he is all too familiar with. The moon highlights the lines on his face, does nothing to hide the deep shadows under his eyes or the puffiness surrounding them.  _ He’s just a kid,  _ Steve thinks, his heart aching.  _ Just a kid, who had to see too much too soon.  _

“Oh,” the kid - Peter - says, “I’m sorry Captain Rogers, I didn’t know anyone was here.” The kid stands in the entryway to the balcony, jumping slightly on one foot, clearly unsure as to what to do. Steve can at least help with that. He throws the kid what he hopes looks like an encouraging smile, tilting his side to the side. Peter approaches him slowly, finally standing a couple of feet from him, his hands tightly clutching the railings. They both say nothing for a few minutes, the silence deep but eerily comfortable, especially since he’s only met the kid once. “I’m sorry for Berlin,” Peter blurts out suddenly, surprising Steve. From the stunned look on his face, the kid perhaps even surprised himself. It certainly wasn’t even on the list of topics Steve was expecting him to broach. “We all made mistakes that day, son,” Steve says. “Me more than most. You however, did not do anything wrong. Don’t knock yourself out about it.” Peter still looks at him unsure, so he continues, “besides, it was a long time ago.” 

“Not for me,” Peter says quietly. And well, Steve should hit himself for being so insensitive. 

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. Peter nods. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’m fine,” Peter says automatically. The answer sounds rehearsed, as though repeated a thousand times. But there are ticks that give it away - a slight tremble in his voice as he utters the words, the way he isn’t looking Steve in the eyes. And god, Steve sees so much of Tony in this kid it hurts. He cocks his head to the side marginally, in a way he often did to make Tony confess. 

“You wanna try that again?” Steve asks. 

“I-“ Peter begins, an explanation forming on his lips.  _ I really am fine,  _ Steve guesses,  _ really, nothing to worry about!  _

“Tony used to do that, you know,” Steve began conversationally. He sees the kid flinch on Tony’s name, and lets himself feel a moment of guilt for probing at his still largely open wound. “He never would admit that he’s not fine. Always had to pretend he is, have this perfect facade on so that people never saw the real him.” He looks over at Peter, cataloguing the glassiness of his eyes and his slightly laboured breaths. “You’re a lot like him.” 

“I just wanted to be like him,” Peter whispers, so quiet Steve probably would have missed it if not for his super hearing. Peter looks up at Steve, his big brown eyes filled with tears, much of which was cascading down his flushed cheeks. “I miss him so much,” he says, his voice breaking. Steve doesn’t think, he just goes against every bit of training the Army had instilled in him and pulls the kid into a hug. He goes willing, wrapping his arms around Steve’s torso. Steve squeezes him tight, resting his chin on his hair, stroking his curls gently. “I know, son,” he says. “Me too.” 

“Everything is so messed up right now,” Peter says, pulling away and bringing his arm up to wipe his tears with his sleeve. Steve belatedly notices the shirt is one of Tony’s, too large on the boy’s petite frame, and the scent of motor oil and Axe bodyspray and something so  _ Tony _ suddenly feels so strong it brings tears to his eyes. “And I keep thinking - Mr Stark would know what to do. He always knows what to do.” Peter looks up, large Bambi eyes expressive and vulnerable. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits quietly. “I just want him back.” 

Steve doesn’t know what to say - anything he could say now feels fake and insincere. Perhaps for the first time it dawns on Steve that he’s not the only one grieving - everyone around him is to. He thinks about everyone Tony was irrevocably tied to; the guilt in Bucky’s eyes, the grief in Rhodey’s. He thinks about Pepper, who lost her husband, and Tony’s little girl, who lost her father before she could even completely remember him. He looks at this kid, so overcome by grief because he was Tony’s kid too, wasn’t he? He remembers Tony’s first words after he had come down from that spaceship, the complete anguish in his voice as he had uttered the words - “I lost the kid” - the way his face fell, as if saying it out loud finally made it real. This kid had meant something to Tony, had meant enough to make him come back and let Steve kill him. 

“I can’t be him,” Steve says softly. “I could live a hundred lifetimes, and still not come remotely close to ever being him. But I promise you this,” he looks at Peter, into his big eyes which look at him so trustingly, and vows, “we will figure this out. We’ll make him proud.” 

Peter nods, wiping his eyes. He stands up a little straighter, looks a bit more determined. 

“Hey, Queens,” Steve says, smiling, “do you want some hot cocoa? Special Mama Rogers recipe, even Tony didn’t know about it. It’ll just be our little secret.” 

Peter smiles at him, tentative and unsure, but one on the verge of being genuine. He can work with that. 

_ I promise you, Tony,  _ he vows silently, as he leads Peter to the kitchen (still-stocked) and begins pulling out ingredients for hot-cocoa,  _ I will protect your kid with everything I have got.  _ He hopes Tony is happy to see them like this, wherever he is. 

* * *

“I want all details about Peter’s encounter with Mysterio,” Steve says to Rhodey the next morning, more-or-less ambushing the Colonel in the communal kitchen. 

“Excuse me?” Rhodey asks, looking a little shocked at Steve’s sudden request. “Mysterio - the man that revealed Peter’s identity and classed the kid as a criminal.” Peter had brokenly told Steve the full story last night, clutching his mug of hot cocoa tightly in his hands as he recalled the betrayal he faced by a man he trusted. 

_ “Can I ask you a question?” Steve had asked Peter. At his nod of encouragement, he continued, “what made you trust this guy?”  _ Steve wasn’t trying to be condescending, or even blame the kid in any way - he was genuinely confused. Steve could tell Peter is the kind of kid who trusts people easily, and clearly the grief of Tony’s death had left him unsettled. And yet, giving the last memento of Tony’s to a man he just met? Steve’s instincts have rarely ever been wrong, and right now they are telling him that there is something embedded deep into Peter’s heart, and Peter is not going to be okay until he gets that poisonous thorn out.  _ “Because when he put the glasses on,” Peter muttered, “he looked just like him.”  _ And god, everytime this kid says anything, Steve’s heart just breaks a little bit more. He had just put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, and did not comment on the topic any further. There was more to it, he was sure, but Steve knows enough about guilt to fill in the gaps. Peter isn’t ready to say it out loud yet. 

Rhodey sighs, “honestly, I don’t know much about the guy. I was… handling things back at the lakehouse myself when it was all going on.” Steve can’t hold but look away. He doesn’t have the willpower to think about that, not yet. “As far as I knew, the kid was just getting some miles on his soul in Europe before he started college. I didn’t know there was something going on until Happy called me and said the kid is in trouble. By the time I got to London, the fight was already finished.” Rhodey takes a shuddering breath, continuing “I never thought something like this would happen.”

Steve nods, “something about this smells fishy, though,” he says. The details have been bothering him all night - when did Mysterio have the time to record a message? If he is dead, how did the message get out?

“Everything about this is messed up!” Rhodey exclaims. “Right from the fact that Peter wasn’t supposed to have EDITH in the first place!” 

Steve stopped short. “What do you mean?”

Rhodey stays quiet for a long moment. “Tony had been making provisions for a Thanos level threat since Ultron. Why do you think he was so desperate for something like the Accords? He needed the Avengers together, so that there was a team ready for when the attack inevitably came.” Rhodey side-eyed Steve, not maliciously he knew, but in a way that made Steve look away with guilt, even after all this time. “He never said,” Steve said quietly, maybe even defensively. “Did you give him a chance to?” Rhodey asked. Steve didn’t really have an answer to that. 

“Anyways,” Rhodey said after a minute, “he was prepared for every eventuality. The first one being his own death.” Rhodey laughed bitterly. “He grew close to Peter after Berlin. Saw the kid like his own son. He knew Peter was the future of the Avengers, and he made provisions for that. The plan was that he would make Peter an Avenger at 21, after the kid finished college. That is when he was planning on giving Peter EDITH. He left specific instructions in his will - EDITH was to be given to Peter only when I, Pepper and May all agreed he was ready, and definitely not before he turned 21.” 

“So how did Peter get it?” Steve asks. 

“Hell if I know,” Rhodey says. “He says Fury gave it to him, but Fury didn’t even know. You really think Tony Stark would trust Nicholas Fury will tech that could potentially end the world? Hell, Tony went to great lengths to make sure that guy is never within a ten mile radius of Peter.” 

That was the question that had stumped Steve the most, out of all things.  _ “He is a spy. Captain, he is the spy. His secrets have secrets.”  _ Steve knew Tony liked Fury, respected him even, but the ‘trust’ part of it came with a grain of salt. No matter how much Fury had grown on Tony over the years, Steve had found it odd that he would entrust Fury - a man Peter had never personally met - with the deeply personal and emotional task of passing on his legacy. 

“Where was EDITH kept?” Steve asks. If he knows Tony Stark - and he likes to think he does, even after all these years - Tony would keep it somewhere as secure as possible. “Tony left it in his workshop at the lakehouse. But it was in a special vault, deeply encoded. Only me, Pepper and Tony himself had authorization to it. And Peter, not that he knows it yet.” 

“Was Fury over by the lakehouse at any time?” Steve asks. Rhodey nods, “Yeah, he was at the funeral.” He must have noticed the way Steve flinches, the way he goes rigid, because he walks over to Steve, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We wanted to wait for you, Cap, we really did. But we didn’t know when you were going to come back and well. The longer we prolonged it the harder it was for everyone, especially Pepper and Peter.” Steve nods, covering Rhodey’s hand with his own and giving it a friendly squeeze. “It’s fine Rhodey, really. I lost the right to be there years ago.” Rhodey gave him a disbelieving look. “No, you didn’t. And you’re dumber than any of us thought if you really believe that.” 

Steve wants to believe him, but he doesn’t think he can. Not now, maybe not for a long time yet. 

“There is something not right here,” he says. “Have you contacted Fury? Or Maria?” 

“Yeah,” Rhodey says, “but they’re out of reach.”

“Okay,” Steve closes his eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath. In, out, in out, like Bucky taught him. “I want you to go over to the lakehouse and look around for any clues. Fury is too smart to leave any signs of entry, but there has to be something. Talk to people who were at the funeral, see if they saw anything. Maybe take Sam or Bruce with you.”

“You’re not going to come?” Rhodey asks softly. “No. No, I won’t be coming with you. Take Sam or Bruce maybe.”

Rhodey accepts this, but can’t help but prod further: “you can’t avoid it forever, Steve.”

His voice is shaky when he replies. “If I go there,” Steve says slowly, “and I… see it. I don’t think I will be able to unsee it. And I won’t be any good to Peter in that state.”

“Why?” Rhodey questions. “He doesn’t complete the sentence, doesn’t clarify what exactly he is asking about, but Steve knows. He saw the question coming since this conversation began. “It’s what he would want me to do.” 

* * *

_ There’s laughter coming down the hall, a hall which looks incredibly familiar to Steve. The laugh too, sounds familiar. Steve hears it again, and something in him stills. He follows it to its source, pausing in front of an ajar door he definitely recognises. He peaks in, silently opening the door to open it’s two occupants inside.  _

_ “Now, now, Anthony,” Peggy says, her beautiful face creased with laughter, “you’re old enough to really be more sensible!” _

_ “I can’t help it, Aunt Peggy!” Tony says, “he’s just always being so ridiculous. You know he blushed when a couple kissed on TV the other day? He got his phone out and everything, as if he was watching porn in front of his parents.” _

_ “Really?” Peggy says, “He was in the army, poppet. Not much can phase him. Unless there was a lady present. In our time such behaviour in front of a lady was considered highly inappropriate.” Peggy pauses for a second before giving Tony a sly grin, “not that I minded, of course. I was there during Project Rebirth.”  _

_ “Peggy!” Tony says with exaggerated shock. He contemplates for a second. “Though you’re probably right. He isn’t half bad to look at.” Steve blushes furiously. Peggy gives Tony a perfectly raised eyebrow and a sly grin. “Besides, you’re really not as old as you make yourself out to be” Tony exclaims quickly. “Bet if we got you out to a club, there’ll be plenty of guys lining up to get a dance with you.”  _

_ Peggy laughs, “I’m afraid my days of dancing are quite over, my love. Yours however are not.”  _

_ “Oh no no, we are not having this conversation!”  _

_ “Hear me out! I never thought I had to worry about you being too celibate, but isn’t it time you go back out there? Virginia was a lovely woman, but she isn’t the only dame in this world. Or fella, for that matter.”  _

_ “Okay 1 - I’ll be celibate when I die. 2 - Pepper and I are ancient history. We’re friends. We’re completely fine and nothing is awkward. 3 - I’m not taking dating advice from you Auntie Pegs. You dated two men in your life. One of them you married, and the other keeps eating my expensive Italian blueberry jam and switching my coffee to decaf.”  _

_ “Darling, I only want you to be happy. You can’t spend your whole life in a lab and a metal suit,” Peggy says, bringing a hand up to caress Tony’s cheeks. Tony smiles softly at her. “I know. I am. I really really am.”  _

_ “You look it, my love,” Peggy says. “I hope it stays that way. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you - for you to live a long and happy life with someone who loves you as much as I do.”  _

_ “That’s impossible Aunt Pegs,” Tony says. “You’re my best girl.”  _

_ “Oh, hush, you. Come give your dear old godmother a hug before she clocks out of this bloody world.”  _

_ “Hey, hey!” Tony says, “no talks about dying allowed in Iron Man’s watch. You’re not allowed to die. Then Steve will mope and I really don’t want to handle a mopey Captain America. He’s insufferable.”  _

_ Steve scoffs at Tony’s words. Takes one to know one, he thinks to himself _

_ “I’m glad he has you,” Peggy says, “and that you have him. No matter how much you complain, I know you care about him in your heart. And he, you. Promise me you’ll always look out for each other.”  _

_ “Did you make him promise?” Tony asks.  _

_ “Yes. He did.”  _

_ “I promise,” Tony says, cupping Peggy’s hands and bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. “Always.”  _

_ Peggy’s eyes go suddenly distant. “Oh, Anthony,” she says. “My, you’ve grown my boy. When did you get here? From MIT, was it?”  _

_ Steve feels Tony’s face of heartbreak in his own chest. Tony stands up from his seat next to Peggy, bending down and pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead. “Get some rest, Aunt Peggy,” he says, as he silently stalks out of the door, and past an invisible Steve.  _

* * *

This time, Steve comes to it slowly. For a moment he is disoriented - in his mind, he is still in London, standing in the corner of Peggy’s elegant sitting room, watching Tony and Daniel talk about Peggy’s progress in hushed voices. He sighs, looking out of the window to see darkness just looming over the Manhattan skyline. He slowly gets out of bed, contemplating whether he should go up to the penthouse once more. He longs to - it’s the only place with memories of Tony still intact - but he forces himself to remove his feet from the elevator and walk out to his own private sitting, pausing in front of the window. 

He thinks about the dream - because that could not have been a memory, surely? It was so realistic. Steve had known about Tony and Peggy’s relationship, of course - it was the first thing they had bonded over. Steve had heard all about Peggy from Tony’s eyes - a Peggy he never got to know. At first he was filled with a bitter rage, a jealousy steaming out of him, no matter how misplaced it was. All through the war, he dreamed of coming out of it one day, with Peggy waiting for him on the other side. They would dance, and they would have a long and happy life together. He would see Peggy be the beautiful mother of their kids, and it would all be worth it in the end. He never did get to see that, but hearing Tony talk about days out with Peggy and her kids, playdates with his name-sake cousins, the entire Carter-Sousa family coming down on his birthday with presents and cake, even when Howard himself would forget. He talked about Daniel teaching him how to change a tire and Jarvis teaching him how to shave and drive, or Peggy telling him stories of Steve Rogers - not Captain America the way Howard did. He had thought the thought just once -  _ that could have been me in Tony’s life like that, making it more bearable -  _ but it did not really fill him, not in the way he expected. Over time, the bitterness faded away, and Steve just looked forward to hearing about the woman Peggy became, the impact she had on making Tony the man he is today. Tony thought the world of his godmother, that much was obvious. And so he knew very well of Tony’s visits to Peggy, any time he was even remotely close to London. He had gone with Tony once, shortly before Sokovia. Peggy had hugged them both together, whispering “my boys” as she had kissed his cheek, then Tony’s. 

It had felt like a goodbye. 

  
  


“Hey punk,” Bucky says, coming over and standing next to him. “Can’t sleep?” Steve looks over at Bucky, letting himself study his best friend intently for a moment. The light from outside shines over Bucky’s face, making the dark lines under his eyes more prominent than ever. Bucky looks a bit better than he had last seen him, before the coma, and yet something about him seems lost. 

Steve shakes his head. “Bad dream?” Bucky asks. 

“No,” Steve says. “No, it was a nice dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Bucky doesn’t look at Steve, doesn’t put a burden of expectation on him, but he moves a bit closer, until their shoulders are touching. A steady support, always by Steve’s side. 

“Did you know,” Steve begins, “that Peggy was Tony’s godmother?” Bucky, to his credit, looks surprised himself. “She and her husband, Daniel, and the Stark family butler Jarvis - they all practically raised Tony. More than Howard had, anyway.”

“Must have been hard for him,” Bucky says softly. “Yeah,” Steve says. “It was.”

He coughs, clearing his voice. “I had a dream about them. Peggy and Tony. But it was like I was watching them from the outside, but not really there. It was just me in that moment, as I am now, watching them talk.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. He looks dazed and extremely confused. “Sure it’s not a memory?” 

“Not my memory, definitely,” Steve begins. “But-”

“But?” Bucky prompts.

“In the dream, Peggy makes Tony promise to always look out for me. Told Tony she had made me promise the same thing.”

“Had she?” Bucky asks. 

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “she had.” He pauses for a moment. His next words are at the tip of his tongue, and he knows Bucky is expecting him to say it too. “I didn’t keep it.”

“Steve…” Bucky begins. 

“I don’t understand it. Why am I having these dreams?”

“Dreams?” Bucky asks, his eyebrows squinting, “have you had any others?” 

Steve contemplates for a minute. His first instinct is to deny it, to close himself off. He pushes the instinct down deep inside him. He promised himself he would try harder. 

“Yes,” he grits out. “One right after I woke up. And two others, but they were past memories shared between us.” 

“What was the first one?” Bucky asks. 

Steve takes a deep breath, “Tony snapping his fingers.”

Bucky stays silent for a few moments. “Stevie,” he says finally, putting both his hands in each of his shoulders and turning him so that they are facing each other. The coolness of the metal arm leaves a tingle on Steve’s shoulder, even through the thin shirt he wore to bed, and grounds Steve in the present. “It’s your guilt.”

Steve physically recoils at the words, but Bucky’s hands do not waver. “You promised him, yourself and Peggy you would be with him, but you weren’t in his last moments. And your thick head won’t understand that wasn’t your fault, so you’re torturing yourself. That’s all you’re doing, Steve. You’re torturing yourself.”

“And the memories?” Steve asks. “What about them?” 

“You miss him,” Bucky says gently. “You’re trying to make up for his loss in your mind.”

“Something feels wrong, Buck,” Steve finally admits out loud. “There is something going on here, beyond my understanding.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, “you need to let go.” 

_ Let go,  _ Steve thinks. 

He’s never been good at that. 

* * *

_ “How about, when you’re ready, you go put that on -” the wall in front of them opens up, revealing a glorious suit. It is Spiderman’s colours, but that is where the similarities to Spiderman ends. Steve can’t look at it and not see the Iron Man suit in it. “-and I’ll introduce the world to the newest Avenger. Spiderman.” Tony beams at Peter, pride evident on every inch of his face. Steve knows what is going to follow it - had watched the press conference live in a shitty bar somewhere in Atlanta - and yet he can’t look at Tony and see anything but a proud father. Peter and Tony haven’t known each other very long, Steve knows (because nothing could stop him from keeping tabs on Tony, making sure he is safe and okay) and yet he knows that Tony already loves this kid with his whole heart.  _

_ Peter looks at the suit, mesmerised by it. Steve watches the kid with a smile. He has spent some time with the kid in the last few days, but there is always a weight on his shoulder, always something bringing him down. The kid Steve has gotten to know - he has seen so much, far more than a young boy his age should ever see. But this kid standing in front of him now, looking at a superhero suit like all his dreams have come true? This kid is the one Tony got to know - bubbly and smart and the life of a party. The giddy happiness on Peter’s face dies after a moment, being replaced by a firm, determined smile. He holds his head up high, turns to Tony and says - “thank you Mr. Stark, but I’m good.” The fall of Tony’s face lasts only a millisecond, but it is enough for Steve to catch on. Tony is happy, proud. Tony had talked about Peter, after all, in the aftermath of the charged hours they had spent planning every meticulous detail of the Time heist. “He’s the best out of all of us,” Tony had said, the smile on his face so soft it had filled Steve’s tired heart with light. “Didn’t want the fame or glory, or the cool toys and tricks. He just wanted to help the little guy.” Tony Stark has done a lot of great things in his life, but there is nothing he is more proud of than Peter Parker. That is evident on his face, even in this moment.  _

_ “This was a test, right?” Peter asks, his voice getting more high pitched as he approaches the end of his question. “There aren’t really people waiting outside, are they?”  _

_ “Yes, it’s a test,” Tony says. “You passed. Skedaddle, young buck.”  _

_ As Peter walks away, Steve wonders how anyone - including himself - could ever think this man is anything less than the most selfless person to ever walk the earth.  _

_ Steve knows what happens next - he had watched the press conference in full, crushing a beer can in his hands until Sam had to subtly take it away from him. He watches it again with the same pain in his heart, but it is more bittersweet now. Tony got married to the woman he loves, had a beautiful daughter and a wonderful five years, cut too short but Steve’s own callous actions. He knows now the engagement was a cover up for Peter’s sake, but it transformed into a beautiful marriage nonetheless.  _

_ It is the moments that happen afterwards that leave Steve’s heart shattered.  _

_ Tony comes out of the press conference alone, seemingly having told everyone he is going to his lab. He doesn’t, though. He goes down to the residential suite instead, pausing outside a room right next door to his (and across the hall from Steve’s own room, now buried under piles of rubble). He takes a deep breath, pushing the door open. _

_ Inside, the room is a teenager’s paradise. A large double bed sits right in the center of the room, draped with Star Wars sheets. The walls too are all adorned with posters - Star Wars, Star Trek, Back to the Future - names of movie franchises Steve has only heard of. There is a desk and bookshelf pushed to the side, the bookshelf stacked with dozens of textbooks - AP Chemistry, AP Biology, AP History - all forming a neat row in the first few shelves. The rest of the bookshelf is full to the brim with books and comics, some classical names Steve can recognise, others which look like they are specifically targeted at a certain age group. There is a laptop on top of the desk, and a huge poster of the periodic table above it. A huge flat screen TV is mounted on the wall in front of the bed, a small cabinet under it holding a PlayStation and XBox - though not the communal ones Steve knows are in the sitting room - and a shelf full of DVDs.  _

_ Tony stands at the door of the room for a long time, taking everything in with a sad expression on his downcast face. Finally he walks in, slowly, hesitating before he gingerly sits on the bed, taking his glasses off and gently rubbing his temples. He stays completely quiet the whole time, and Steve’s heart breaks as he watches Tony in this room.  _

He made this room for Peter,  _ Steve thinks. One thing is painfully clear - Tony was excited to have Peter in the compound.  _

“I don’t like the idea of you rattling around in a mansion by yourself,” _ he had written in the letter. He didn’t realise it then, but Tony was alone in the compound too.  _

_ “Mr Stark,” Vision says, phasing through the wall. “Would you like to pack this room up?”  _

_ Tony takes a deep, shuddering breath. “No,” he says, “no leave it. Make sure no one comes in here.”  _

_ Vision looks at Tony for a long moment. “Of course, sir,” he says.  _

_ As Vision leaves, Steve can’t help but go sit down next to Tony. The bed does not dip with his weight, or even leave a wrinkle. Tony himself doesn’t notice, or budge. It is like Steve is a ghost. “Oh, Tony,” he says softly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  _

* * *

Steve sighs, his eyes fixed on the board in front of him, littered with red string. There are so many questions that keep popping up here, questions Steve has been pondering over for days. Peter’s lawyer, Matt Murdock, was very clear - if we want to prove Peter to be innocent, we need to undermine Quentin Beck’s claim. The problem is, it is hard to throw away a dead guy’s claim, especially one who seemed to be a living ghost anyway. FRIDAY’s findings on the man were minimal, and the leads Steve did manage to chase up were a dead end. His small apartment in Brooklyn was depressingly bare - an empty kitchen, a naked mattress on a thin bed frame and one small cupboard, mostly empty. It was as if Quentin Beck never expected to go back home. 

Steve’s head was spinning in circles. 

“Rhodey,” he called out, “any leads on how Fury got EDITH?” 

“No,” Rhodey said, “none. This kid, Harley, said he saw Fury loitering at the back of the house but it doesn’t amount to anything suspicious. He didn’t come out with everyone else in the funeral anyway, since he is supposed to be dead and all.”

Steve nods. “I want to speak to this Harley kid,” he says. “Maybe he saw more than he realises.”

Peter perks up just slightly, “sure, Captain Rogers. I’ll text him.”

Rhodey looks at him curiously. “You know Harley?”

“Yeah,” Peter says excitedly. “I mean, we talked a few times. Mr Stark mentioned him sometimes. He was supposed to come down during the summer for an internship right before -” The light drains from Peter’s eyes as quickly as it came, and he gulps visibly. “I met him officially at the… at the funeral. We talked for a bit afterwards. He just got it you know? What it was like.” Peter didn’t give any clarity as to what he was talking about, but they all knew. Peter looked down sadly. Sam coughed, “hey, kid,” he called out, “shouldn’t you be getting a juice box or something? Isn’t that what kids your age do? Shall I get you a Capri Sun?” Peter stares at Sam, indignant. “I am not that young!” he exclaims. 

“Oh yeah?” Sam says teasingly. “Aren’t you like, five?” 

Peter rolls his eyes with a level of sass only teenagers could muster. “I am seventeen, I will have you know. Nearly eighteen actually in -” His eyes go wide as he does a quick calculation in his head. His face closes off again, and he stops mid-sentence. “What,” Sam says, “cat got your tongue?” 

“Uh, no,” Peter says, “I’m just gonna go call Ned. He hasn’t heard from me in a few hours so he’s probably worried.” 

Peter practically runs out of the room. Steve watches him go with narrowed eyes. 

“FRIDAY,” he calls out, “when is Peter’s birthday?” 

“August 10, Captain,” she says. 

“Well, shit,” Sam says, looking a bit guilty. His face was mirrored in Rhodey’s. 

“It’s the kid’s 18th birthday tomorrow,” Rhodey says, his voice crumpling. “God, Tony had so many plans. He had started planning Peter’s 18th birthday pretty much the day after his 16th.” 

“What about his 17th?” Sam asked curiously. Rhodey laughed, “already had that planned. His gift was supposed to be the Iron Spider suit. He got it a bit early, I guess. Thanos happened only a month or so before.”

“What did he have planned?” Steve asked. 

“He was going to take the kid to Wakanda,” Rhodey said with a nostalgic smile. “Peter had met Shuri once, when King T’Challa and Shuri had come to discuss the Wakandian Relief Embassy details with Tony. They got on like a house on fire. Think they gave Tony a heart attack multiple times that day.” He laughs, though it sounds empty and hollow. “Peter had kept talking about how much he wanted to go to Wakanda since then. Tony and T’Challa had it all set up.”

“Sam, Bucky,” Steve says, “think you guys can figure out what teenagers like to do on their birthday? Set it up?” Sam gives a mischievous smile. “The kid won’t know what hit him.” Steve nods. “Rhodey, you know who his friends are?” 

Rhodey nods. “Some, but I’m sure I can find the rest of them out from May.” 

“Good. You guys do that, I’m going to make a call.”

They all grin at him. Steve smiles back sheepishly. 

* * *

_ They’re in Tony’s workshop this time, a place Steve is intimately familiar with. It looks different than Steve remembers seeing it, though, post-Snap as they all worked tirelessly on the gauntlet. It doesn’t look like how Steve remembers seeing it pre-Snap either, back when he was a welcome addition to the room and Tony’s life. The semantics are all the same, and yet there is just… more. Instead of the whole room being taken up with Tony’s one, long workbench, the room is split in two. One side of it Steve recognises - there are half completed circuit boards and holograms scattered all around, the Iron Man gauntlets spread out in the middle of the bench. The other side is one that is foreign to Steve - there is a rack of chemicals next to it, a bunsen burner set up in one corner. In the middle of it, there are pieces of paper scattered everywhere, notebooks and textbooks open on every available surface. It is untidy too, but it is unlike Tony’s organised chaos. This bench looks like it belongs to someone who can’t decide what piece of work to pick up first. When Steve’s eyes reach the pair on the workbench, both heads full of chocolate curls bent over a textbook does the sight make sense.  _

_ “You forgot the negative sign in the formula, kiddo,” Tony says softly, “your variance came out wrong, messed up your standard deviation, so your graph is funky.”  _

_ Peter stares at the page intently. “Oh,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Mr Stark! I’m so dumb!”  _

_ Tony chuckles, ruffling Peter’s hair. Peter pouts at him in mock protest, which makes Tony grin even wider. “It’s a honest mistake, squirt,” he says encouragingly, “just slow down that big brain of yours a bit and double check your work.”  _

_ Peter smiles widely, his cheeks tinged with rouge. He grabs an eraser, going back to work with a tongue sticking out in concentration. “Done,” he exclaims after a few moments. Tony looks over his shoulder. “Aaaand it’s right,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Now we can start the real fun.”  _

_ Peter’s whole face brightened, lighting up so brightly Steve felt like he was being blinded by it. Steve realises that in the few weeks he has gotten to know Peter, he has never even once seen him like this.  _

_ He eagerly bounces over to Tony’s own workstation, peeking at the various components scattered around it. “What are we working on today, Mr Stark?” he asks, with practiced indifference, a carefully constructed facade of maturity put on. The sparkle in his eyes betray his excitement though, and the fondness in Tony’s eyes shows just how much he cherishes the kid’s bubbly nature, his passion and his strength. Steve sees a vision of Tony everytime he looks at the kid - it makes his heart clench, equal parts painful and fond. Steve can see that Tony can see himself in this kid, too.  _

_ Tony pulls up a hologram, displaying the specs of what Steve realises after a moment are the Widow Bites. “This is mark three of an electroshock weapon,” he says to an intently focused Peter. “It is kind of like a repulsor, but less cool. It essentially delivers extremely powerful electrical discharges that administer on the opponent a mild electric shock. Not strong enough to kill them, but enough to slow their brain activity enough to disarm them.” Steve has seen the Bite in action multiple times, has witnessed Tony make it even, and yet he doesn’t think he ever understood it’s mechanics the way he does now. He is blown away by Tony's infinite patience, the way he points out every detail and lets Peter ask questions, encouraging him to think outside the box. “Our job,” Tony says after he finishes explaining the logistics to Peter, “is to tweak the electromagnetic wave enough so that its strength is a bit higher. We want to leave the opponent incapicated for a bit longer.”  _

_ Peter ponders for a second. “Well,” he starts unsurely, “what if we replace the -”  _

_ Peter enthusiastically explains his idea, Tony probing him with questions every now and then, which the kid answers to with a surreal amount of confidence. Tony beams with pride. “Well what do you know, kid,” he says, “you solved it!” He gives Peter an encouraging pat on the back, the kid blushing furiously. “Alright then, let’s get to work.”  _

_ They work in companionable silence for a time, Steve watching them with a fondness. It is a perfect tableau in front of him - two connected souls working in perfect synchronisation, predicting each other’s movements with a practiced accuracy. Peter passes Tony the screwdriver without looking before he even asks. Peter looks up, opening his mouth to ask for a component Tony is already holding out at him. The image tugs at Steve’s heartstrings. He feels a weird sense of nostalgia, though that can’t be accurate. Steve had hardly ever seen the pair interact, and yet he feels like their dynamic is permanently embedded in his heart. _

_ “Mr Stark,” Peter says suddenly. “What’s up?” Tony says, immediately dropping the screwdriver in his hands to direct all his attention at Peter. “Can I ask you a question?” he asks timidly. “Well, you just did,” Tony chuckles. Peter gives a weak laugh. Sensing his hesitation, Tony physically turns around, looking at Peter intently. “What is it, squirt?” he probs gently. “Are these Black Widow’s bracelet thingies?” Peter asks, stumbling over his words. “I just remember seeing something similar back at the airport, when she was fighting that small guy who went big? So, yeah” he says, seemingly drawing back into herself. “Just wondering.”  _

_ Tony tries to put on a front of practiced indifference. “Uh, yeah,” he says, “we call ‘em Widow Bites. Deadly, just like Nat.” He smiles softly, the love on his face unmistakable.  _

_ “Does that mean they’re coming back?” the kid asks, barely managing to tone down his optimism.  _

_ Tony cocks his head, looking at him with questioning eyes. “Is that something you would like?” he asks.  _

_ “Well, yeah!” the kid exclaims. “They’re the Avengers! Earth’s Mightiest Heroes! I would love to meet them.” _

_ Tony chuckles, though it sounds hollow as it echoes through the room. “Well a) I’m insulted kiddo, I’m an Avenger too and b) you already have met them.” _

_ “Well yeah, but the airport doesn’t really count. I was fighting them, not meeting them. You all inspired me so much, meeting you all officially as Peter Parker and not Spiderman - that would be so cool!” The kid says this with a laugh, his eyes focused on his screen as he coded something, so he missed the dark look that crossed over Tony’s face.  _

_ “Don’t get your hopes up, kiddo,” Tony says, “meeting your heroes can be very disappointing.”  _

_ Peter looks up at Tony, and maybe for the first time catalogues the hurt on Tony’s face, though Tony made a valiant effort to mask it.  _

_ “I don’t know, Mr Stark,” Peter says nonchalantly, looking at Tont through a side glance, “mine turned out pretty great.”  _

* * *

_ Peter’s POV _

_ Good morning, Peter,  _ FRIDAY’s voice comes from above just as Peter opens his eyes.  _ The day today is August 10 2024. You are at Avengers Tower. Captain Rogers, Colonel Rhodes and Lieutenant Barnes are all up and in the penthouse kitchen. Your aunt May has gone for a jog in Central Park with Mr Hogan and should be back shortly. Oh and may I say - happy birthday. _

Peter blinks his eyes fully awake, smiling widely For a second - just a second - Peter wakes up and doesn’t remember anything. This isn’t the first time it has happened, though the moments are rare. Peter welcomes them, to be honest. The past 8 months have been hell, and everyday Peter wakes up in the morning wishing it were over already. Losing Mr Stark had damn near killed him the first few months; he had operated life in a haze he does not remember much of. He remembers going to school, remembers sitting in class and trying to keep his head down and work. He remembers forcing himself back into old habits - Decathlon, Band and - at May’s insistence - Spiderman. He had done all of it, like he should, but if you asked him to recount a question they practiced during Decathlon or a bad guy he busted during nightly patrols, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. His head was overtaken with just one constant thought:

_ He’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone  _

It repeated in his head all day, all night, never giving him a single moment’s peace. 

So he did all he could to block it out. He threw himself into the grind - taking on extra credit work, took longer patrols even though the last thing he wanted to do was be in that suit. He ran extra practice sessions with MJ, he built lego sets with Ned, he helped May with the rebuilding effort when everyone came back. He kept busy, and through it all he tried to block out the part of him that remembers. He tried to pretend he was normal - he went on a trip to Europe with his friends. He planned an elaborate way to confess his feelings to a girl he likes. He tried to leave it all behind - the faraway alien planet, the five years of his life he lost, the people gone he will never get back. 

He never quite managed it. 

He thought refusing to be Spiderman in Europe, not fighting Mysterio - it will all help maintain the illusion he had spent months to perfect. And yet, the illusion had left crumbling down - literally - and he was left quaking in the ruins of the aftermath with nothing. The Spiderman he tried so hard to leave behind didn’t belong to him anymore. The college he and Tony had gone and visited together, Tony giddily showing him around the MIT campus, envisioning a whole new life for Peter, which he was determined to live for Tony’s sake - gone. His friends, his girlfriend, his mentor. He lost everything, and some days he did not think he was cursed to just simply wander around the Tower forever, just lamenting the memories of a man who was long gone. 

But mornings like these, when he wakes up and for a second he isn’t the Peter Parker lost in time. He can’t feel the tiredness seeping in his bones as he gets thrown into a second battle in the matter of minutes. He can’t remember the smell of smoke and burnt flesh. For one glorious second, he is just a kid waking up on his birthday. 

But then, just as quickly, it all comes back. Just like that, every cognitive input in his brain gets replaced with just one thing -  _ Tony is dead, and you couldn’t save him. _

“Thanks, FRI,” he whispers. The choice not to tell anyone was his, and he owns up to it. Truth be told, he hadn’t even remembered it was his birthday until the day before, and when it hit him it did not take him more than a second to decide that no one but him needs to know. May remembered, of course, and put up a weak protest when Peter asked her not to tell anyone - but she understood. May always understood. 

And so, here he is, 18 years old to the day and crumbling under the weight of life. A distant thought in his head tells him 18 isn’t the right number - in an ideal universe he should have been turning 21 years old today. But he knows the thought isn’t accurate even before his brain has finished processing it - in an ideal world,  _ he _ would be here with him. 

“Are you sure no one knows?” Peter asks FRIDAY as he throws his legs off the bed. FRIDAY pauses for a long moment. “Yes,” she says finally. “No one seems to know it is your birthday today.”

“Good,” he says, nodding to himself or FRIDAY he does not know. “Can we keep it that way?”

Another moment of silence. “As you wish,” FRIDAY says, and he can hear the disapprovement in her robotic voice. 

Well, he can add one more to the list. 

He pauses in front of his cupboard, sifting through the clothes he had pushed into there. He dives his hands in, letting it curl around soft fabric which he brings out quickly and throws on without checking. He walks out of his room and around the suite, his feet taking him straight to the kitchen. Not being able to be Spiderman doesn’t stop the gnawing pain of hunger in his belly, despite the fact that he hasn’t quite been able to taste anything. Everything he eats feels like dust in his mouth. 

He wanders into the kitchen nonetheless, intending to fix himself a birthday banquet of some Cheerios and orange juice. 

And promptly finds a note attached to the fridge door. 

_ Out of milk. Will get some on the way back from my morning walk but there should be some in the penthouse.  _

_ Love you! _

_ May _

Peter sighs, wondering if he can just suck it up and wait until May gets back. His stomach growls with hunger, and wordlessly he takes the stairs to the penthouse. 

He checks his phone on the way up, telling himself not to be disheartened when he sees zero messages being displayed on his screen. 

_ You wanted this,  _ he reminds himself.  _ You wanted everyone to forget. _

He unceremoniously pushes the door of the penthouse open, wandering in barefoot. Immediately he smells the warm aroma of melted butter and syrup in the air. There is a subtly sweet smell in the air too, and Peter knows without having to see what it is. It involuntarily brings tears to his eyes. 

“Oh, hi Peter,” Captain Rogers says suddenly, breaking him out of his gaze. “You’re just in time, I made pancakes-”

He stops suddenly mid-sentence, his eyes blown wide and staring unsubtly at his chest. Peter looks at him confused. “Did I wear my shirt inside out or something?” he says out loud, following Steve’s gaze down to his own chest. 

“Oh,” he says. Staring back at him is an oversized burgundy t-shirt, the faded MIT logo defiantly staring at him.  _ You thought you could forget,  _ it seems to be teasing,  _ but he will follow you wherever you go.  _

Steve recovers quickly, coughing once before he smiles at Peter widely. “Come on, I made plenty.”

Peter nods, averting Steve’s eyes as he quietly sits down next to Sam, who gives him a little shove but says nothing else. Steve walks over behind him, piling on a large stack of pancakes on Peter’s plate. His eyes are steadfastly trained on the pancakes, on Sam and Bucky bickering in the corner, on Peter’s face as he holds the jar of maple syrup up in question. His eyes look everywhere but at Peter’s chest, where the MIT logo still sits. 

They both know who it belongs to. 

“Blueberries?” Steve asks. Peter stares at the bowl in Steve’s hands for a long moment. “Uh, no,” he uttered quietly, “no thanks. I’m good.” Peter goes for a mild smile, which Steve returns sadly. Peter notices neither he nor Rhodey take any blueberries, though Sam and Bucky help themselves to it happily. 

Maybe they have all got the same ghosts chasing them, he thinks. 

“So,” Peter says with a false cheerfulness, “why the pancakes today?”

“Well, spiderbaby,” Sam says with a grin, “we dared Steve last night that he won’t be able to eat a bowl of pickles with chocolate syrup and hot chili sauce. Man tried, but the big baby gave up after like 5 of them. The result was his famous blueberry pancakes.” Sam gestures at his plate of half eaten pancakes with a flourish, and Peter relaxes slightly. 

“Well,” he ponders as he bites into another forkful of amazingly good pancakes, “you could have always just shoved the entire bowl in one go. The serum should protect you from choking right?” 

“I suppose?” Steve shrugged. “Never really tried it.”

“Maybe you should,” Peter grins, “for science.”

“Well, if it’s for science,” Steve says dryly, and Peter finds himself laughing without thinking. Steve and Rhodey exchange a look, and Steve looks oddly pleased with himself. 

“Alright then,” Sam says, getting up lazily, “Bucky and I are off. We gotta go down to the VA to check in with the relief efforts.”

Steve nods seriously, “keep me updated” he calls out. Sam salutes him with a sarcastic grin. Bucky passes behind him, cuffing him in the head as he walks away. “See ya, punk,” he calls out. “Bye, jerk!” Steve shouts at Bucky’s back. He looks back at Peter with a blinding smile, and Peter can’t help but smile back himself.  _ God,  _ he misses Ned.

“Peter, Rhodey and I will be gone all day, too. We have a meeting with King T’Challa about some Wakandian aid funds.” 

Peter nodded. “We should be back by tonight. Bruce is in his lab. He said he would love an extra pair of hands helping him.” Rhodey smiled at Peter, and Peter meekly uplifted his lips. 

“I’ll be fine, guys,” he assured. “Let me know if I can help!” 

“Will do!” Rhodey says, patting Peter’s back as he walks out of the kitchen. Steve watches Rhodey leave, then turns to look at Peter with a critical eye. “You sure you’re okay?” he inquires. 

Peter musters up a weak grin. “I’m fine. You guys carry on. I’ll go hang out with Bruce or watch a movie or something.” 

Steve puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder, the gesture so soft Peter involuntarily melts into it. “You’re a good kid,” he says non sequitur, before he too follows Rhodey out of the door. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he takes it out quickly. It’s a voice mail from May. 

_ Hey Petey, I called into office for some last minute proposal ideas for the Maria Stark Foundation Gala. I’m with Happy, don’t worry. Sorry to leave you alone today! I’ll be back as soon as I can, promise, and then we can do something for your birthday. Happy birthday Petey pie. Love you tons.  _

Peter sighs shakily, sneaking another look at his still empty inbox before shoving the phone back in his pocket. 

Peter stares at his finished plate of pancakes, then at the still half full bowl of blueberries on the table. He looks around quickly, making sure no one is lingering around before he gingerly picks up a blueberry. He stares at it for a moment with glazed eyes, already blurred by tears. He slowly brings it up to his mouth. 

“Happy birthday, Peter,” he says so himself. He laughs humourlessly, popping the blueberry into his mouth. As he chews, he closes his eyes and lets himself  _ feel _ . 

He goes down to Bruce’s lab eventually, once he had let himself cry it all out and then repeatedly washed his face with icy cold water until he was satisfied it was no longer red and bloated. He plastered a big smile on his face as he signalled at Bruce to let him in. 

“Hey, Peter!” Bruce called out, looking up from the microscope he was peering into it. “How’ya doing?” 

“I’m good,” he says pleasantly. He peers over at Bruce’s notes. “What are you working on?” 

Bruce grins, launching into an explanation about comparing the similarities between his and Steve’s cellular structures. “The stuff they use on you is strong, but it hasn’t been working much for you these days, has it?” Bruce asks this gently, leaving Peter plenty of room to run away. “No,” Peter admits. “Doesn’t really work much anymore.” 

_ Side effects of being dead for five years,  _ is what he wants to say, but doesn’t add. He leaves it hanging in the air, though, and he can sense that Bruce heard those unspoken words nonetheless. 

“I want to see if I can dilute the formula we use on Steve for you. Steve’s stuff might be too strong given your age and size, but a weaker version of it should be safe for you to use.” 

“What shall I do?” Peter asks, and Bruce grins at him as he starts explaining. 

* * *

What feels like hours later, FRIDAY’s voice pipes up from above them, breaking both Peter and Bruce out of their work haze. 

“Dr Banner, Peter, Captain Rogers has arrived and is asking both of you to come up to the penthouse.” 

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” Bruce yawns, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his shoulders. Peter does the same. 

“Come on,” Bruce says, shutting down his screen. “Let’s see what he wants.” 

They made their way up to the penthouse, chatting idly about Bruce’s research on electron repulsion. Peter had read it as research for his science fair project, and had been so flabbergasted by it. “I wrote my college application on it,” Peter explained when Bruce asked him how he knows so much about it. Bruce raised his eyebrows, his big green face curling up softly in a smirk. “Where are you planning to go?” Bruce asked curiously. “MIT,” Peter answered with a fading grin. “I was. Probably not anymore, I guess.” Peter’s smile fades until it completely vanishes, and Bruce looks at him with sorry eyes. “Hey,” he says, as they pause in front of the closed penthouse door, “we’re gonna fix this, and you’ll be off to MIT in no time.” Peter doesn’t answer, but gives a small smile nonetheless. Bruce must notice it isn’t real, but drops the subject nonetheless. Peter pushes the door open, still looking at Bruce. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” a dozen voices shout, poppers exploding and party horns are blown with enthusiasm. Peter looks on in shock as all the people start making their way over to Peter in a hurry. May is the first to approach him. She looks at him with a soft smile, enveloping him in her arms in a warm embrace, her fingers slowly carding through his hair in a way she knows calms him down. “Happy birthday, Peter,” she whispers into his ears softly. She lets him go with some reluctance, and he turns to find Pepper and Rhodey all beaming at him. “You didn’t think we’d forget, did you?” Rhodey asks disbelievingly. Peter shakes his head tearily. Pepper pulls him into another hug. One by one, everyone appears, all offering him a loving hug and kind words. Steve pats his back energetically, pulling him into the room where another surprise greets him. The whole of the floor is decorated - streamers and balloons covering every inch of the walls, the table in the corner full to the brim with wrapped boxes. In the centre there is a massive three-tier cake, a Spiderman figure placed perfectly on the top. As soon as he approaches it, the sound of more birthday horns blowing nearly deafen his ears. More people jump up from behind the couch - Ned and MJ, who immediately run over to him. He and Ned enthusiastically do their ‘bro-shake’, MJ shyly greets him with a kiss on the cheek. Sam and Bucky both approach him on opposite sides, immediately giving him what they proudly pronounce as “birthday beats”. Shuri is next, grinning at him as she hugs him. 

“What are you guys doing here?” he asks laughing as both Ned and Shuri tackle him with another round of birthday beats, MJ laughing as she videos the whole debacle. 

“You really thought we would forget your birthday?” Ned exclaims with offence. “Peter, we’re bros. Bros don’t forget each other’s birthdays. It’s in the bro code.”

“You guys didn’t…” he begins, faltering. “I didn’t even remind you guys.”

MJ smiles, gently stroking his cheek. “We wanted to text in the morning, obviously, but Captain Rogers called Shuri and Shuri called us. He wanted to throw a surprise party.” Peter looks over at Steve, who is casually resting against the doorframe of the kitchen where all the adults had apparently retreated to give the kids some time to catch up. Peter smiles thankfully. As he moves his eyes away from Steve, for the first time he notices a dark-haired girl standing a little to the side from there. Morgan beams at him when they make eye contact, with a grin that is so Tony Peter can’t bear to look at her. She doesn’t approach him, keeping her distance as if unsure about what to do. Peter had only met her once, very briefly, at the funeral. He was still reeling from the aftermath, still finding it hard to believe that everything that happened had happened. He had died, had come back after five years only to see Tony die right in front of him, hear his heartbeat weaken until he could no longer hear it. And then he found out in those five years Tony had a daughter, who looked so much like him every gaze felt like a stab to the heart. 

And then he hadn’t stopped not coping, and so hadn’t seen Morgan again. 

Now though, he purposefully walks up to Morgan, gently kneeling down to her level. “Hiya, Morgan,” he murmurs softly, giving her a faint smile as he wills his tears to stay in his eyes. “I’m Peter. It’s really nice to meet you properly.”

Morgan takes her thumb out of her mouth, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “I know who you are,” she lisps. “Daddy told me all about you!” 

Peter suddenly can’t breathe. “He did, huh?” he says. “What did he say?” 

“He said you’re really smart,” she exclaimed excitedly, “and you’re funny and really really brave! And he said you tell the best stories, and you love eating popsicles. And he said you’re the best at hide and seek, and you would always play with me because you’re my brother!” She says all this in one breath, her voice raising as she gets more and more excited. She grins at him, the gap between her teeth visible, and Peter nearly breaks down crying right there. 

“Are you my brother?” she asks, eyes squinting at him critically. 

“Yeah,” Peter breathes out shakily. “Yeah, I am.”

“How comes you don’t come visit me, then?” she asks angrily. “Uncle Rhodey comes sometimes, and you stay with him but you never come!” 

Peter pulls her into a hug, resting his chin on her little shoulder. She wraps her arms around his neck, leaning her soft cheek on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against her hair, “I’ll do better, I promise.” 

He pulled away reluctantly, and she furrowed her eyebrows at the tears in his eyes. Her small hands reaches up to his face as she gently wiped his tears away. 

“You can’t cry today!” she exclaims, “it’s your birthday! Daddy said we have to be happy on our birthday, because it’s a special day!”

He laughs wetly. “You’re right, princess,” he says, wiping a few stray tears away. “No more crying.” 

Pepper comes up behind Morgan, placing her hands on her shoulder. She looks at Peter’s tear-stained face, smiling sadly, but saying nothing. “Hey, sweetie,” she says to Morgan, bending down next to her, “did you wish Peter a happy birthday?” Morgan looks over at him again, her tongue sticking out as she squints her eyes in a way that could only mean “oops!” She throws her arms around Peter’s neck once more, Peter nearly toppling over at the sudden impact. He wraps his arms around her tightly. “Happy birthday, Petey,” she says happily, practically vibrating with energy in his arms. Peter tightens his hold around her, “Thanks, Morgs,” he says, gently stroking her hair. His eyes close involuntarily, and he perhaps holds on for a little bit longer than necessary. As he hugs Morgan, he can almost pretend it’s Tony who is holding him like this, making him feel safe in a way only he could do. 

He doesn’t realise until he pulls away from Morgan that Pepper is staring at them both, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Come along, you two,” she says hoarsely. “We should get the party started.” 

As Peter approaches the gathering party centered around the cake, a new face emerges amongst the sea of people. “Harley?” he exclaimed disbelievingly. Harley’s lips widen, a short laugh erupts out of his mouth as he jogs up to Peter, offering up his fist. Peter bumps it enthusiastically, looking up at Harley. “Happy birthday, nerd,” he says fondly, ruffling Peter’s hair. Peter swats his hands away, glaring at Harley, in a way which he hopes looks menacing. Harley only laughs, rolling his eyes at Peter’s sad attempt at looking intimidating. “Yeah, okay, puppy,” he chuckles, throwing a bemused smirk over to Peter as he steps over in front of Morgan. 

“Hey Morgs,” he says, bending down to offer Morgan a fist bump of her own. Morgan bumps knuckles with Harley excitedly, both of them drawing it back and exaggerating a “boom!” sound, Morgan squinting her eyes and pouting in a way Peter assumes she thinks makes her look cool. Peter feels a stab of envy at the easy camdarie between the two, the familiar way they greet and smile at each other.  _ Morgan has grown up with Harley,  _ he thinks sadly.  _ He barely even knows who you are. _

Pepper silently glides next to him, both of them watching Harley and Morgan interact for a moment. “Harley was around a lot, those five years,” Pepper begins, looking over at Peter like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “He was already in college by then, but he spent vacations with us. His family all got dusted.” Peter averts his eyes. He knows all this, of course - Harley had explained this all to him the first time they met. He feels a flare of guilt fire inside him, but he can’t help but feel envious at the life others got to have, the one that got stolen from him. 

Harley got to have  _ him _ for longer than Peter did. 

“Being the one who got lost was hard,” Pepper says softly, “but the ones who got left behind were broken too. They both were.”

Peter gulps, nodding. 

“Morgan has seen Harley her whole life, but she has known you her whole life too. Tony wouldn’t have had it any other way.” 

Peter looks up at Pepper with wide eyes. She smiles dismally, and Steve notices the way grief has contoured her face. She caresses his cheeks lovingly, her eyes boring into Peter’s with reassurance. 

Peter nods again, unsure as to what to say. Morgan skips over to him, dragging Harley by the hand behind her. “Can we cut the cake now?” she asks, her eyes big and bright. 

Peter laughs, and finds himself to actually mean it. “Sure, Morgs,” he says. Whatever you want. Morgan beams at him, grabbing him with her free hand. She moves her eyes between Peter and Harley, smiling up with so much love and familiarity. 

_ I lost five years with her,  _ Peter thinks.  _ I won’t lose anymore.  _ And as he bends down and blows his candles, surrounded by a room full of people who, for better or worse, all care about him, he makes just one wish:

_ Please make everything right again. _

* * *

The party eventually dissipated, all the guests leaving one by one. Harley and Shuri retired down to the guest floor to get ready for bed, Shuri leaving for Wakanda in the morning and Harley opting to stay for a couple of days before he made his way back to Cambridge, where he was doing his PhD at Harvard. (Steve wants to know all about how that particular conversation went with Tony). Rhodey had gone to drop Pepper and Morgan, who had left early, wanting to make it back home in time for Morgan’s bedtime. 

(Steve had awkwardly invited Pepper to stay the night instead of making the long trek back to the lakehouse, not sure if he was overstepping his boundaries. This is her home after all, more so than his. Pepper had smiled at him, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. “Morgan has never really stayed here,” Pepper explains. It is only a half-truth, Steve knows. The other half of the truth remains that every inch of this building is full of wandering ghosts neither of them can truly get rid of, even if they actually wanted to.)

Sam and Bucky were still there though, apparently helping Steve ‘clean up’. The truth was, all three of them were watching Peter interact with his best friends, the last of the guests to leave. Ned had pulled Peter into a long, hard hug. Steve had a full view of the look on Ned’s face as they hugged, and he could not help but glance over at Bucky, who was watching the pair with a similar expression. It was hard knowing your best friend is out there somewhere, suffering, and yet you could do nothing to protect him - couldn’t even see him. Steve had an urge to go comfort the boy, tell him that things will eventually be okay. Ned and Peter eventually pulled apart, Ned uttering a desperate “take care” before he left, smirking at MJ and Peter as he did so. The two teenagers were blushing as they smiled shyly at each other. Peter made a sudden movement towards MJ, before faltering in his steps. He grinned bashfully. Steve looked over at Sam and Bucky, who all wore a mischievous smirk that mirrored his own. “Hey, bird-brain,” Bucky said loudly, “help me take the extra chairs downstairs.” He poked Sam with a glare, Sam laughing as he and Bucky made a beeline out of the penthouse, carrying two chairs each. Steve was left standing in the corner, the couple looking at him uncertainly. 

“I, uh,” he began eloquently, “I’m just gonna go…” his mind went blank, not a single excuse coming into his brain. “...the washroom. I’m going to go to the washroom.” He turned and started making his way down the hallway of the penthouse, steadfastly avoiding looking at the teenagers. 

“You know he is trying to give us some time by ourselves, right?” he heard MJ say. “Yeah,” Peter laughed, before it all went suspiciously quiet. Steve tried very very hard to not think about the reason why. 

Later, hours after everyone had left and the remaining had assembled to clean up the mess that was made in the aftermath, Steve found himself going back to the penthouse. This time, there was already a figure standing in the balcony, his lean silhouette blending in with the Manhattan skyline. It was an image Steve had seen many times, a lifetime ago. Steve ached to draw it. 

“Thank you,” Peter says when he took his place next to him. Steve nodded, smiling gently. “Did it make you happy?” he asked. The smile on Peter’s face was small, sad but genuine. “Yeah,” he whispered. He screws his eyes closed, and when he opens them again after a moment Steve saw they were glistening with tears. “I haven’t been in so long.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t think there is anything he could say in this situation that would make the kid feel better. Instead, he holds his arms out in an open invitation. Peter steps into them willingly. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Steve asks against his hair. Peter sniffs. “I didn’t want one, not without him.” 

Steve could understand that. 

“And now?” he prods. 

Peter loosens his grip on Steve, stepping out of his embrace. He suddenly felt very cold. 

“You know I hadn’t really met Morgan before today? I mean, I saw her at the funeral, and Happy had told me about her before it started but as soon as I saw her, I just -” he sniffs again. “I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be around her. Everytime I looked at her, all I saw was him.” 

Peter takes a shuddering breath. “He told her I am her brother,” he whispers. Steve can’t help but notice he has not once mentioned Tony’s name. 

“Oh, son,” Steve says, turning to fully face Peter. “You are. You both are his kids.” 

“She barely even knows me,” Peter says. 

“She will.”

Truth is, Steve understands Peter, to an extent even Peter would not understand. Steve knows of Morgan, of course - Natasha was the only person who had remained a part of Tony’s life in those five years (not of any fault of Tony’s - it was Steve who was a coward in this case), and she had kept remnants of little Morgan Stark everywhere. There was a framed picture kept in her room, a drawing pinned up on the fridge that said ‘happy birthday Aunty Nat!” in glittery pink letters and an amazing artistic talent. Whenever Nat went to visit the Starks, she would come back with stories of Morgan - Morgan said her first word today, Morgan teased Tony when he tried to pretend the tooth fairy is real today, Morgan drew on Tony’s face today - and that would be the only time Nat had any light in her eyes. Steve soaked up every bit of information Nat offered like a sponge. He knows Morgan’s favourite colour is blue, that she can’t sleep without her Spiderman blankie, that she can already read entire sentences even though she is only four years old. He knows he loves Morgan Stark with all his heart, but he has never actually met the girl. Morgan had been the center of attention today, more so than Peter even. Peter and Harley had barely left her side, and she was drenched with affection coming from all sides - May and Rhodey had carried her around everywhere she went, Bruce gave her a piggyback ride, Ned taught Morgan an elaborate handshake and MJ had sat down and weaved Morgan’s silky hair into a pretty braid crown. Even Sam and Bucky were enamoured by the kid, had been pretty much as soon as Morgan smiled brightly and called them ‘Uncle Sam’ and ‘Uncle Bucky’ - and wasn’t that a real kick up his ass? Steve had spent so much time worrying about Tony’s reaction to Bucky, and Tony had painted Bucky as a part of his daughter’s family. The only person who had steered away from Morgan was Steve, though he saw Morgan sneak curious peeks at him. He just couldn’t - if looking at Peter felt like a stab to the chest, looking at Morgan felt like something was ripping pieces of his heart with their bare hands. There wasn’t a single part of Morgan that didn’t scream  _ Tony _ .

Morgan was Tony Stark’s daughter, though, and she didn’t take no for an answer. She had approached Steve herself eventually, her small face set in determination. “Uncle Steve?” she lisped, and Steve felt the coldness around his heart thaw at the sound. He bent down next to her. “Hello, Morgan,” he choked. She examined him with a critical eye. “You’re my daddy’s face,” she stated. “Yes,” Steve replied, physically trying to stop the pure emotion from lacing his voice. “Yes, I am.” Morgan continued to look at him, her big brown eyes wide and expressive. Steve didn’t know how to act around the little girl. “And you were Auntie Nat’s friend, too,” she stated again, not a question but rather a simple fact. “Yes,” Steve repeated, because what else could he say? Morgan smiled brightly at him, throwing her hands around his neck. “Daddy told me all about you,” she said happily. “About you and the ‘Vengers!” 

Steve choked on his own tears. “He did, huh?” 

“Yeah!” Morgan babbled, “he said you were one of his favourites, but not his favouritest because that’s Spiderman, but he said you and Uncle Bruce were joint seconds.” Morgan’s eyes suddenly went even wider, “is it true you gave him a piggyback ride once?” Steve laughed out loud, though he knew it sounded wet and croaked. “I did,” he agreed, nodding his head solemnly. “Your dad was very small.” Morgan narrowed his eyes at him with offense, and a smile involuntarily graced his lips. “Daddy says Starks aren’t small,” she said haughtily, “we’re compact!” 

Steve laughed, raising his hand up to tuck a loose strand of silky hair behind her eyes. “Of course, sweetie,” he says. “Now, how about we go grab some cake before Sam eats it all?” Morgan nods enthusiastically, and Steve does not hesitate before he picks her up and carries her to the kitchen, Pepper watching them with a soft expression. 

What could he say? Starks have the ability to wrap his around their finger.

He realises he went quiet for a long time, lost too much in thought to notice the way Peter looks at him critically. 

He coughs, breaking out of his memory. “So, uh,” he says, trying to change the subject, “MJ seemed like a nice girl.”

As expected, Peter’s face goes beetroot red almost immediately. “Yeah, uh, she is.” He smiles lovingly. “She’s a nice girl,” he says, bumping shoulders with Peter, “hold onto her.” 

“I try,” Peter says. “But it’s all so new and I am stuck here and can’t even see her and honestly I didn’t think she would want to be with me after all this shitstorm but she does.” He stops, repeating again to himself quietly, “she does.” 

“The real ones always stay, son,” he says. 

“Someone else once said that to me too,” Peter says nonchalantly. He side eyes Steve, and Steve knows immediately who he means. “He said that if two people really love each other, if they truly want each other, then they will find their way back together, no matter what.” Peter pauses, giving Steve a look that looks too knowing for his comfort. “If you truly love each other, then that love is enough reason to stay, no matter how many good reasons there are to leave.” 

“Sounds like a wise guy,” Steve says casually, though he had felt the crack in his heart widen more and more with every word Peter uttered. 

“Yeah,” Peter says, looking back at the Manhattan skyline, “yeah, he was.”

* * *

  
  


_ “Avenger Tony Stark reporting for duty, sir!” Tony says, mock saluting as he swerves into the room, commanding all eyes to be on him. He’s wearing a dark grey tank top, tight and hugging all the rights part of his torso, outlining the soft lines of his abs. His dark joggers are hung low on his waist. He stretches his arms over his head, cracking his knuckles in the process. His biceps bulge as he strains his arms, and Steve feels his mouth go dry.  _

_ “Look alive,” he says, tossing long fighting sticks at Tony. Tony catches it with expert precision, looking coyly at Steve. “So authoritative,” he says, raising his eyebrows teasingly as he takes his stance. He advances towards Steve lazily, pointing his stick at him mockingly. Steve gives him an unimpressed look, hitting Tony’s stick with his own. The sound rattles through the empty gym, and Tony shoots a flirty grin at Steve. “Lower your center,” Steve commands. Tony rights his stance, both of them staring each other in the eyes as they anticipate the other’s next move. Steve moves first, hitting Tony with a series of sequential blows, which Tony wards off easily. “Hm,” Tony says amusedly, “I may be better at this than I thought.” Tony attacks Steve with his own blows, Steve grunting as he dodges them. Tony stares at him with his mouth ajar. Tony sprints at Steve, attacking him with another hit before he jumps up in the air and twirls, landing with a loud grunt as he brings down the stick on top of Steve. Steve rolls on the ground, dodging Tony’s sudden movement.  _

_ Tony shoots Steve a self-satisfied smirk, offering his hand down to Steve. He helps heave Steve up to his feet, both of them circling each other as they look for an entrance to make their next move. “Why so serious, Captain?” Tony asks teasingly. Steve sees his opening, dealing Tony a hard blow which Tony parries expertly. “Cat got your tongue?” Steve stares at Tony impervously, grabbing Tony’s pointed stick and yanking it towards him, swinging his own stick across the ground. Tony jumps into the air in a perfect dance. Steve pulls the stick from Tony’s grasp, throwing it onto the floor a few feet away from them with a loud clatter. “And that,” he says, “is why we don’t chit chat during a fight.” Tony smirks at Steve. “Not yet,” he says, as he advances towards, throwing a carefully executed punch at Steve. Steve bends under Tony’s arms, dodging his fists. Tony takes hold of the situation, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck in a chokehold. Steve grunts, trying to wrench free of Tony’s strong grip. Tony looks down at Steve with an adorable pout. “Come on, tell me you’re not just a little impressed.” In response, Steve breaks free of Tony’s hold, flipping him over so that he was now straddling Tony. “Must say,” Tony leered, “I imagined you and I being in this position under different circumstances.” Steve looks down at their position in surprise, and Tony takes the chance to swing his legs away from under Steve’s weight, both of them rolling on the floor. Tony gets up first, offering his hand to Steve to heave him up. “You need to get that stick out of your ass, Cap,” he says as they begin circling each other again. “Enjoy the fight.” _

_ “A fight is supposed to be won,” Steve asks, parrying another expert blow from Tony, “not enjoyed.” Tony grunted, deflecting a blow from Steve. “I didn’t realise this was a competition.” _

_ “Spoken like a sore loser.” Steve grins at Tony, his breaths heavy and panting. Tony pouts, narrowing his eyes at Steve in offense. He brings his hands up, beckoning Steve over. “Come on Steve,” he drawled, “dance with me.” He began moving gracefully in a way Steve could only describe as an elaborate dance. “We are sparring,” Steve replies, “not dancing.” _

_ “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” Tony smirks. “Fighting is a dance, after all.”  _

_ “I can’t say,” Steve says, “never really danced before.” _

_ “Why not?” Tony asks. _

_ “I was waiting.” _

_ Tony moves closer, “waiting for what?”  _

_ Tony is standing impossibly close now, and every muscle in Steve’s body itches to close the gap between them. “For the right partner,” he mumbles, his gaze dropping down to Tony’s most enticing feature. Tony’s eyes track his movements, and he grins. He brings his hands up, slowly, and then yanks Steve down, pinning him to the ground. Tony is straddling him now, pinning both his hands over his head.  _

_ “I win,” he pants.  _

_ Steve looks down at their intertwined bodies, a smile spreading across his face slowly. Tony moves from above him and helps him up, talking a hundred miles an hour about how he is craving a burger, and does Steve want a burger once they’ve washed their sweaty asses?  _

_ Steve doesn’t think he could ever lose, when it comes to Tony Stark.  _

* * *

When Steve walks into the guest quarters kitchen the next morning, it is mayhem. And right amongst the mayhem, there are two very guilty looking boys. Steve stares at them with surprise. 

“Uh,” Peter begins. “Good morning?” 

Steve crosses his arms, standing upright and giving the two youngsters what Clint always described to be his ‘I am Captain America and You Have Failed This City’ (“ _ you got the wrong superhero there, Katniss.” “You’re only saying that because Oliver Queen is a cooler billionaire than you.” “Fuck you, Barton, Oliver Queen isn’t even a billionaire-“)  _ face. Peter’s face immediately falls upon seeing it, but Harley stares him in the eyes challengingly. 

“You two boys wanna explain?” He asks, one eyebrow raised. 

“We were making popcorn,” Peter explains. He does a flourishing gesture with his arms, as if to say ‘ta-daaa’. Steve is still very confused. 

He tilts his head. “I can see that. But-“ he gestures at the mess surrounding them. “-how did  _ this _ happen?”

“Well, the packet says we should put it in the microwave for 6 minutes at 500W of power so we thought why not try to do it in 3 minutes with 1000W of power and uh-“ he gestures around the kitchen. 

“It was for science,” Harley nods solemnly. “We are trying to make the world a better place.” 

“I’m sure science appreciates your contributions,” Steve deadpans. “You know how else you can make the world a better place? Cleaning this mess up before your Aunt May gets back from her run.” 

Both Harley and Peter wince.  _ Bull’s eye, _ Steve thinks. 

They look around the room, gulping visibly as they catalogue the mess around them. 

“Tell you what,” Steve offers, “if you two can go upstairs and convince Shuri that she doesn’t need to upgrade our coffee maker to make it more ‘Wakandian’, whatever that means, then I’ll get this cleaned up before Bruce finishes making his truly amazing French Toast.” 

Peter looks at him guiltily. “We can help-“ he starts to offer. Steve cuts him off. “You’ll be helping me by making sure the coffee maker doesn’t become too complicated for an old man like me to handle.” 

“You are pretty old,” Harley nods seriously. Steve pouts in mock offense. “Get outta before I change my mind.” 

The boys laugh, the sound echoing as they run into the elevator. Steve shakes his head behind them fondly, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the pantry as he sets about cleaning up the mess. 

_ “Look at you, Cap,”  _ a voice says in his head, sounding suspiciously like Tony.  _ “Who knew you would be a push-over dad.”  _

It didn't take him long to clean up the mess, and he trudged back to the penthouse just in time to be greeted with the sweetly smell of Bruce’s French Toast. He walks into the kitchen, greeted with large smiles from Peter and Harley as they dig into their breakfast.  _ Peter is eating more now,  _ he notes satisfied. He is deep in conversation with Harley as he eats, and it warms Steve’s heart to see him so… happy and elated for once. 

“So,” Bruce says as he sits down with his own plate, “how’s Harvard these days, Harley?” 

Harley beams, “it’s bad. But isn’t it a requirement that Harvard students need to hate it’s general existence?” 

Bruce chuckles, “undergrads are generally happy to be there.” 

“That’s because they don’t know any better. And they have some resemblance of school pride in them.” 

“I can’t believe you go to Harvard,” Peter exclaims, saying Harvard as if he is saying ‘an alien planet’, with equal parts shock, amusement and disdain. 

“Why is this such a big deal?” Harley asks, exasperated. Steve gets the impression they have had this conversation before. 

“It’s just… you’re going to Harvard and Tony didn’t say anything?” Peter asks, bewildered. “He saw me Harvard’s website once and then started to sneak MIT brochures into my bag every day.” 

“Was he always this subtle or was it an acquired skill?” Bucky wonders out loud. Peter grins. 

“He didn’t know how to do ‘subtle’. He took me to a science exhibition once and we just ‘happened’ to bump into the Mechanical Engineering professor from MIT. I think the day I told him MIT was my first choice was the happiest day of his life.” Peter pauses for a bit, reflecting. There was a soft smile etched on his face, but it didn’t look sad. It was a nostalgic smile, the kind that only comes from reliving happy memories. Steve, Bruce, Bucky and Sam all exchanged a sly look - on the one hand, it had not escaped any of their attention that Peter was yet to mention Tony by name. Whenever he did allude to Tony - which itself was rare - he simply said ‘he’. And more importantly, he never mentioned Tony like this, so casually, so happily. There was always an overt layer of grief covering any and all mentions of Tony, a thick cloud that they didn’t think they could ever get rid of. This moment was nice, but they were all holding their breaths for the aftermath. 

“Honestly,” Harley continues quickly, “he didn’t kick up much of a fuss. Said something about how I’m blowing my inheritance and how he can’t believe I fell into the scholars trap, though. That was weird.” 

Peter laughs again, though it’s more distant this time. He is lost in his sea of memories, Steve notes. His eyes are less focused, but they’re soft and bright and expressive. For once Peter is thinking about these memories, and he’s not hurting. 

Steve wishes he knew how to do that, too. 

* * *

Later, they’re all crowded around the big, oblong table in the briefing room. Steve massages his temples gently, feeling another headache come in. Steve almost forgot what having a headache feels like - he certainly has not had one since the serum. And yet, nowadays more often than not, there is a persistent throb in his head he can’t quite get rid of. Bucky watches his actions without a concerned look, and Steve immediately stops the action. He coughs, trying to command the room’s attention. All eyes immediately fell on him, waiting for him to take charge. 

“Rhodey,” he begins, “any leads in contacting Fury?” 

Rhodey shakes his head. “No, no one seems to know where he is.”

Steve sighs, bracing both hands on the tabletop. He breathes in slowly, exhaling after a second, trying to clear his head. Every lead they chase up ends up being a dead end, and Steve is running out of ideas to pursue. They are running out of time, too - the kid is set to appear before the Court in less than two weeks. 

Harley speaks up. “Cap,” he hesitates, darting a look at Peter before he continues, “can we pull up Mysterio’s video?” 

Everyone looks at Peter, who sinks deeper into his seat. Wordlessly, May puts her arms around him. “Yeah,” Peter mumbles, “I’ll be fine.”

Steve looks at him for a long second. He can sense the hesitancy in Peter’s stance, and yet his face is set in a determined look Steve has seen countless times before. It doesn’t matter what Steve does now - refuse to play it or send Peter out of the room - Peter is determined he will watch that video today, no matter how much it pains him. 

Sam hesitates at Peter’s words, shooting the question at Steve. Steve gives a wordless answer. Sam looks at Peter frettingly again - the kid has grown on him like a leech, even if he spends most of his time teasing him - but finally brings the video up. 

Steve has seen if, of course, more times than he could care to admit. Not for the first time, he wishes he could punch the guy until his face imprints itself into the pavement. Peter flinches with every cruel word Mysterio throws at him, but he does not break. 

“Right there!” Harley shouts suddenly. All eyes dart back to the screen. “FRI, can you replay the video please.” FRIDAY does as she asks, and Harley speaks again. 

“Watch the video carefully. Did you guys notice the static?”

FRIDAY replays the video, and all eyes stay transfixed on the screen. 

Sam looks on, confused. “I don’t get it,” he admits, voicing what the rest of the group were thinking too, “the entire video has static throughout it. So what?” 

Harley sits up, practically vibrating with energy. He sprints to the front of the room, where the screen was projected across one wall. “Think of it like this - static in a video occurs when there is a discharge of static electricity when film is moved through equipment. So they are completely random, they don’t follow the same or even a similar pattern. It is largely dependent on the time of screen you’re using, the quality, the humidity in the room” He looks around at the room, nodding as all the participants stare at him with rapt attention. “Now if you watch the video again, and again, you’ll notice something - all the bits of static occur at the exact same time, in the exact same way, for the exact same length of time. Try it on any device, it’s the same thing. It’s almost like-”

“-like it was manufactured,” Steve finishes off, his eyes wide. Harley nods his agreement. “It’s not an authentic video. Peter may have said those words in a different context, but someone used bits and pieces of the truth to piece this together.”

“It isn’t some kind of video editing, though,” Bruce murmurs, his hands already flying over his tablet. “Video editing in itself is too unpredictable. It wouldn’t leave a continuous static imprint.” 

Harley smiles a little sheepishly, “yeah, that’s what I can’t figure out either.”

“It’s BARF,” Peter speaks up quietly. “BARF videos play on a loop, changing the coding of a memory in a single instance and then cataloguing it so any replay shows it exactly as it was in the user’s mind. So if a change to the coding was made during the process, the same static should repeat every time.” 

Peter’s eyes are wide, and he looks at everyone disbelievingly. 

The room is silent, everyone quietly reflecting the information amongst themselves. 

“What do we do now, then?” Rhodey says pragmatically. “This sounds like a solid theory, but it’s backed by mumble-jumble science. Just this won’t hold in court, and the public are unlikely to accept it too.”

Bucky speaks up, “has this BARF thing been used before?” 

Rhodey clears his throat, “yeah, Tony demonstrated it in front of MIT when it was launched, before-” he trails off, waving his hand randomly in the air. Everyone immediately understood the meaning. “He used it a couple of times since then too.” 

Steve clears his throat. “Are there any videos of those attempts?”

Rhodey looks on uncomfortably. “Yeah, there is.” 

Steve’s speech falters, and he looks on uncertainly. The strategist part of his brain reasons that watching those videos would be a good place to start - if they can find multiple instances in which the same thing happens, it would increase their chances of proving to the court that their explanation is backed up with evidence, that it is acceptable. On the other hand, airing what are no doubt Tony’s private moments fill him with an overwhelming uncomfortableness and dread. And perhaps selfishly, he also knows he appears in Tony’s bad moments, and he doesn’t think he is strong enough to watch that. 

Rhodey interprets Steve’s hesitancy, correctly it seems, because he places a friendly hand on Steve’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t mind,” he whispers quietly, “not if it is for Peter.”

Steve gives Rhodey an anguished look, “is there anyway for you to know which ones are about what?” he asks. Rhodey thinks for a minute, “FRIDAY should be able to tell.” 

“Can you go through them? Pick out which ones you think are too personal for anyone to see, and which ones you think he would be okay with people seeing?” 

Rhodey nods, “yeah, I can do that.” 

Steve gives a grateful smile, squaring his shoulders as he breaks out of his private conversation. “Rhodey will be gathering a few of Tony’s attempts at BARF. We will watch it and see if there is a consistent pattern with all the times BARF has been used. It should give us some leg to stand on.” Everyone nods. 

Steve looks up at the ceiling, a habit he has never been able to break when addressing the AIs. “FRIDAY, is BARF currently available for use?” 

FRIDAY pauses a moment. “BARF had not yet been ready to launch before the Decimation. The only functioning prototype for BARF is currently located at the Stark Lakehouse.” 

“Rhodey, you and Sam will be going through the BARF archives to pick out a couple for us to watch and compare. Bruce and Bucky, you will stay here with Peter and Harley. I want you all to research as much as you can about the static… stuff.” He inwardly grimaces. “Just, find science that can back our claim. See if you can liaise with Shuri, get her input.” 

Steve braces himself for his next words. “I will go to the lakehouse and get the prototype.” 

He deliberately avoids the intensity of Sam, Bucky and Rhodey’s gaze, all burning into his side. “You all have your assignments,” he says to the group. “We will feedback tomorrow.” 

He waits until people pile out the room, until only Sam and Bucky are left. 

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Sam asks warningly. Steve attempts what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“You can take one of us with you,” Bucky suggests. “Or send one of us instead.”

Steve’s heart yearns to take them up on their suggestion, avoid it for as long as he can. It is the cowards way out, though, and Steve is trying to avoid being a coward when it comes to Tony Stark. 

“I need to do this, Buck,” he says. 

Bucky and Sam look like they want to protest, but eventually nod, accepting his reasons. They filter out of the room, each giving Steve a reassuring pat on the back as they do. 

Steve waits until it is just him in the empty room. He sits down with a deep sigh, burrowing his face into his hands. 

He can do this.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have the whole story planned out and a good half of the next bit written so the next update should be soon!!


End file.
